Redemption
by xxmadworldreveriexx
Summary: (AU/AH 1700s) Condemned into a life of slavery and dishonor, Jace Herondale craves only one thing: to avenge his parents' death. When the opportunity finally arises, he seizes it like he's always had — as a man with absolutely nothing to lose. But Jace never expected to meet with his greatest hurdle yet: his sworn enemy's daughter — and the only girl to truly capture his heart.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

Hi, guys! This is my first fanfiction on the Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare. It basically centers around Jace and Clary, in an alternate human universe where Jace is a fallen-prince-turned-gladiator and Clary is the princess of Idris. Basically a star-crossed lovers' story.

I was inspired to write about Jace as a gladiator one day after watching the movie Pompeii. But no worries, this story is nothing like that movie. Just maybe a few elements, but that's it.

p.s. As mentioned, this is set in an alternate human universe, so several details in this story might differ/ not coincide with the timeline of actual history, i.e. things that may not have existed during that time can exist in this story.

p.p.s For the benefit of new readers (since this was only mentioned in my A/N in chapter 12/13), the events in the prologue (and the next chapter) takes place in December 1699, after which, everything else takes place in 1708. Though that being said, do note that the language will be more modernized, because, well...I'm no Shakespeare or a fancy writer of any sort.

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Prologue**

_Darkness as black as ink and as thick as velvet engulfed the land of Idris. Save for the tiny specks of silver-white embellishing the ebony sky, the kingdom was plunged in shadows and the air was heavy with the pungent smell of malevolence._

_The night was a deceitful beast, a deliverer of pain and anguish._

_To some, it was a blessing, a time for solace, and a time for peaceful contemplation and respite; but to others, the night was a curse, an accomplice to the Devil, abetting him in his sinister plans of wreaking destruction upon the Earth and its inhabitants._

_And that night, the Devil was very much at work._

* * *

Soft flames flickered from the candle that sat upon the mahogany bedside table, providing an infinitesimal amount of light in the otherwise dark room.

Jace awoke with a startled gasp, sitting up abruptly in his bed as a storm of noises erupted from just beyond his bedroom door. His lungs constricted in his chest as the deafening sounds of shouting men, accompanied by the sharp clanging of swords and the hauntingly shrilling, dying screams of people reverberated off the walls.

They sounded so close. So, _very_ _close_.

They were just outside his room.

Only a single oak-wood door separated him from the chaos outside.

He was unarmed.

He was still too young.

He was not ready to embrace death yet.

_'Oh, God—'_

"Shh, it's all right. It's going to be all right," Celine murmured against Jace's soft, golden-blonde locks.

Lifting him up gently from underneath the covers, she cradled her eleven-year-old son in her arms before shifting them to hide underneath his bed. With his head tucked underneath her chin, she began to rub his back soothingly in an attempt to cease his hyperventilation.

"Breathe, sweetheart," Celine softly coaxed him. "Breathe..."

Letting out several more unsteady breaths, Jace shut his eyes tightly and willed himself to focus solely on his mother's voice—a familiar gentle sound that, on some nights when nightmares haunted his sleep, was his only source of comfort.

_'__You're safe, Jace,'_ he told himself. _'You're safe as long as _she's _here...this nightmare will be over soon...just like the others.'_

As Jace's breathing slowly regained somewhat of its normality, a tormented masculine yell rang through the air like an earth-shattering quake. The voice had sounded so familiar to both Jace and his mother that they jumped up slightly from their curled up positions from underneath his bed.

Jace trembled, and a muffled sob escaped his lips as his mother huddled closer to him.

Celine tilted Jace's chin towards her, gently forcing him to meet her eyes—the same golden eyes that mirrored his, laden with the same emotions he felt: love, worry, anxiety, and above all, fear.

"Hush, sweetheart. Daddy's fine. We're going to be fine," she told him calmly as she gently stroked his fair curls.

But being the perceptive child that he was, Jace was able to detect the thick feeling of doubt that lay beneath her words.

_'It isn't going to be fine. Far from it,'_ Jace thought, though he kept that dreaded opinion to himself.

He turned his gaze away from the dreaded door, burying his face deeper into his mother's side, clinging onto her as though his life depended on it.

Time dragged on agonizingly slow that each passing minute to Jace felt like being entrapped in an eternity of purgatory, until finally, the bedlam outside began to boil down, the spine chilling sounds of fighting and massacring progressively dwindling as the night waned.

Eventually, the only noises that Jace could distinguish from outside were of the voices of the commanders amongst the triumphant group giving orders, and the dutiful responses of the remaining soldiers before they set off to do as they were told.

Jace's breathing calmed a little. Maybe he had been overthinking it. Maybe he was wrong and the yell he had heard earlier wasn't his father's. Maybe his mother was right—

_They were going to be fine. _

He would wake up from this nightmare soon enough and both his parents would be there with him. They would all be _fine_.

Just as he had begun to reassure himself, heavy footsteps equaling to the sound of crackling thunder began to dangerously approach his bedroom door.

Jace blanched as an ominous feeling overtook him again. His body stiffened even further as his mother began to crawl forward from their hiding position, a dagger encrusted with jewels and rubies clutched tightly in her right hand.

Jace reached out and desperately tugged her arm back, silently begging her to stay.

"No matter what happens, keep quiet and stay hidden," his mother whispered, her tone sounding so heartbreakingly melancholic that Jace felt his own heart squeeze. She took several moments longer to study his face, tracing each of his features—his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, his mouth—with her fingertips as if she were memorizing him.

"I love you—_Jace_," she said, her voice cracking painfully as she spoke his name.

A single tear escaped her left eye and rolled down her cheek. Celine didn't want to leave her son, but she was determined to protect him, no matter what the consequences were for her.

Planting a soft kiss on Jace's forehead, she gently pried his fingers away from her arm, uttering a silent prayer that Jace would do as he was told.

Though her heart was hammering furiously, she managed to summon up the courage that she needed to keep her footing steady as she took slow and measured steps towards the door. She clutched the dagger tighter in her grip, and just as she let out a shuddering breath, the door burst open with such brute force that the wooden panel flew apart from its hinges.

Jace's heartbeat sped up, his chest pounding almost to the point of pain as his mother, frightened but firm, ran forward, raising the dagger shakily yet determinedly, the honed tip poised to attack the intruder.

There was only one thing that frightened Celine more than the fear of her own death, and that was her son's. She would voluntarily take a hundred stabs to her own chest than to have to watch _him_ die.

Just as she was seconds away from sinking the dagger into the man's chest, his arm flew out and she was immediately thrown backwards with an insurmountable force. Her skull hit the polished wooden floor with a loud and sickening crack, making Jace shudder furiously. He pressed his trembling hand against his mouth, biting down on his bottom lip hard to repress a sob.

The heavily built man with white-blonde hair and black-pit eyes strode into the room casually, arrogance and aggression radiating from him in waves as he looked at Jace's mother with disgust.

"Stupid bitch," he bellowed in a deep voice, raising a heavy boot and landing a sharp kick to Celine's abdomen, probably cracking a few of her ribs in the process.

A loud cry of agony left her as she clutched her stomach protectively, trying to shield herself from the man as he abruptly knelt down beside her crumpled form.

Celine lifted her head gingerly, and a cold shiver ran through her spine as she gazed into the pair of black eyes belonging to the man—

Black eyes that swirled like bottomless pits. Black eyes she hadn't seen in a long time. Black eyes she had hoped to never see again.

"_Valentine,"_ she choked, her voice barely even a whisper.

Jace clamped his hand tighter over his mouth, fighting down a whimper as he watched the man's hand slowly caressing his mother's face. He watched as his mother flinched away from the man's touch and jerked her head backwards sharply before scornfully spitting into the latter's face.

The man—Valentine—jolted backwards with a menacing growl, his muscular body shaking with obvious anger. He wiped his face with obvious disdain before backhanding Celine without even the slightest flicker of hesitation.

Then, in a flash, he pounced on top of her and straddled her hips, causing her to writhe violently from beneath him in a hopeless endeavor to free herself.

"SHUT UP!" he roared, grabbing her by her hair and smashing the back of her head roughly against the floor with another thundering crack.

By then, Celine gave up and lay still. Her eyes glazed over with unshed tears as the energy began to slowly drain away from her body.

Putting more of his weight on her, Valentine bent down till his mouth was level with her right ear. With a maliciously crooked grin, he breathed, "Now that your husband's dead, I shall make you _mine_, and I will _take you_ just the way I like it."

Celine let out a loud cry, no longer disguising the horror she felt as Valentine affirmed her of her husband's death and revealed his plans to ravish her without her consent. "Please, no!" she screamed pleadingly in between sobs as his hands moved down and pulled her dress up in a bunch near her hips before removing the buckle on his belt and undoing his pants.

* * *

The next few minutes flew by in a torturous daze. Jace watched in hopeless silence, as the spiteful man ravaged his mother, her piercing screams permeating the air as he continued to thrust into her mercilessly.

With each passing second, he felt his every breath leave him in a shudder, yet this time, it wasn't because of fear, but rather, an increasingly burning hatred for the man and the situation that he and his mother were put in. He wanted so badly to put an end to the man's actions and beat the shit out of him for what he's done and _is doing_ to his family, but he couldn't. So he just laid there, curled up in a ball, shedding silent tears for his mother and father.

After what seemed like forever, feeling finally satisfied with his deed, Valentine detached himself from Celine, a baleful smirk on his face as he moved away to readjust his garments.

He felt good, _powerful_, and undeniably fulfilled. Stephen was dead, and the woman he had once obsessively _loved_, the woman who had betrayed him, had finally gotten a taste of what it felt like to be hurt. He had sworn vengeance, and hell, it had never felt so gratifying or tasted so sweet.

* * *

As the last of the flames from the candle on his bedside table slowly died out, Jace became fully aware that his mother now lay completely and utterly still. Unable to stop himself, he let out a whimpering noise, and within moments, Valentine's eyes darted over to his hiding spot underneath his bed.

As their eyes met, the corner of Valentine's lips curled up into a hideous smirk. The gears in his dark mind whirred—formulating a vindictive plan—and he charged towards Jace with an undeterred purpose.

His large hands shot forward, clutching Jace's arms tightly before he dragged him out from his hiding position and dumped his thrashing form next to his mother's motionless one.

Momentarily forgetting about the man, Jace immediately rushed up onto his knees to check on his mother. Sweeping the strands of her dirty blonde hair—now matted with both blood and sweat—away from her face, Jace tenderly leaned down and stroked his mother's cheek, willing her to open her eyes for him. As if recognizing his touch, Celine's eyes fluttered open slowly, and her golden irises met Jace's identical ones.

"Mommy," Jace squeaked, carefully lowering himself to embrace his mother. She responded, though noticeably weakly, before pulling back to brush the curls hovering over Jace's eyes.

As their eyes met once again, Jace noticed with quiet alarm that her eyes were now blank and empty, as though her soul had already been sucked out of her body.

Letting the tears fall yet again, Jace pleaded with his mother to stay with him, to hold on, to fight for him. She was the only one he had left and he didn't want to lose his mother—_not yet_. She was supposed to watch him grow up, smile at him with pride as he married his true love and spend the rest of her greying years playing her grandchildren. Not now.

'_Please, not now. Just stay with me, like you promised.' _

Just as Celine opened her mouth to console her weeping son, her eyes suddenly widened in horror and before Jace could react, a sword descended upon his mother's neck, splattering blood all over his face.

A gush of breath left Jace's body in an instant, and for those few moments, he was paralyzed.

His mother was gone.

_'My mother is gone. My mother is gone. My mother is gone,'_ the voice buzzed repeatedly in his head.

And he couldn't even bring himself to move an inch of his muscles or even cry anymore. He felt like a vessel, empty and hollow on the inside.

A sadistic and manic laugh broke Jace out of his catatonic state, and he whipped around, fury and loathing blazing in his golden eyes. "You sick son of a bitch!" he snarled before racing towards his mother's dagger that lay discarded a few feet away.

Just as Jace's fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger, Valentine raised his own sword that he'd used to slaughter Celine and brought the hilt down harshly onto his temple, seizing his movements instantly.

As Jace slowly faded into unconsciousness, he took a final glance at his mother's corpse and silently swore to avenge her death.


	2. Chapter 1: Facing Changes

**Author's Note:**

Hi, guys. Here's Chapter 1. It follows the night after the events in the prologue, basically ties up to how Jace ended up being a gladiator.

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters;)

* * *

**Chapter 1: Facing Changes**

A splash of cold water upon his face jolted Jace awake from the fresh memories of his mother's death that plagued his mind's eye unsparingly during his slumber. He sat up, fuming as he came face-to-face with the culprit who had thrown the bucket of water on him—white-blonde hair, pitch-black eyes like a demon—

_His mother's murderer. _

Jace bared his teeth in a snarl, an animalistic growl emanating from deep within his throat.

Valentine chuckled, seemingly amused with the eleven-year-old boy's attempts to intimidate him. "Aww, look at that. I'm absolutely shaking in his boots," the asshole jeered sarcastically, reaching out his hand to mockingly pat Jace's head like a puppy.

"_Fuck you_," Jace snarled as he snapped his head up to bite the fiend's hand.

Shouting in pain, Valentine drew his hand back and punched Jace squarely in the face, causing blood to trickle from his nose. Incensed, Jace tried to spring up onto his feet but his hands were, unfortunately, bound to the wall by chains.

'_Patting my head. Chaining me up like a dog. Great, just great,' _Jace thought scornfully as he kicked at the gravel on the ground, the chains rattling noisily with his movements.

His bitten hand clutched to his chest, Valentine glared at Jace disdainfully. "You will regret your actions soon enough, _child_," he spat out venomously. "The spawn of Stephen and Celine Herondale—I promise you, you will rue the day you were born," he said, pointing a finger at Jace threateningly—as the boy, unfazed, matched his glare—before he turned away and left the room.

As the metal door clang shut, Jace took in several deep breaths to compose himself before assessing the room he was imprisoned in, which wasn't much in the first place.

The room was relatively small and stuffy; its only source of light came from a single wooden torch that was hung on the wall by the door. To his right was a barred up window that let in a soft early morning breeze in the otherwise dank and humid bare cell. A funky, putrid smell hung in the air, making Jace feel slightly nauseous.

Letting his head fall backwards against the moldy wall, Jace sighed loudly. _'What is he planning to do with me? Why didn't he just kill me like how he killed my parents? Bloody bastard,'_ he thought derisively, the anger and contempt building up in him yet again. He was going to kill that asshole, even if it were the last thing he was ever going to do.

As he gingerly moved his chained hands to rub his palms over his face, his mind flashed back to the previous night's events—

The chaos that woke him up from his night's sleep. His mother rushing into his room and pulling him underneath his bed to hide. His father's yell as he was killed outside his room. His mother attacking the man before he overpowered her. His mother's screams as she was raped. Her dull, lifeless golden eyes as the man slaughtered her right before him.

His chest throbbed with the pain of the loss of his family, yet the tears refused to come. Instead, the hatred he felt for the man grew. It blossomed in his chest like another entity just waiting to be released.

'_I will avenge my parents. And I will return the favor tenfold,' _he vowed.

The sound of the heavy metal door being heaved open broke Jace out of his reverie. He dropped his hands to his sides and glanced up at his visitor.

In the doorway stood a soldier clad in silver armor similar to his mother's murderer, though his was simpler and had a much less intricate design to it. He had messy dark brown hair that fell just over his ears, and grey-blue eyes that for some strange reason Jace could not comprehend held a tinge of warmth and compassion—much unlike the other man, who Jace decided to name 'the asshole'.

Nevertheless, that did not stop Jace from scowling bitterly at the man as he walked towards him, stopping just a foot away. "What do you want?" Jace snapped coldly, his golden eyes harboring the smolder of hatred he felt for the asshole, and 'his people' in general.

"Lord Valentine has ordered me to bring you to the market. You are to be sold as a slave," the man replied in a surprisingly gentle yet measured tone.

"Valentine? You mean that asshole who raped my mother and murdered my parents?" Jace hissed. The man's eyes flickered around for a moment before he returned Jace's glare with a steady and neutral gaze. Just as he opened his mouth to answer him, Jace interrupted, "Why sell me as a slave? Why not just kill me? Letting me live while he takes over my father's kingdom—he's making a stupid mistake, if you ask me. Mark my words: I will kill him. And I will kill his entire family for what he's done to me and my family."

The man's mouth parted slightly as he gaped at the young boy's spiteful words but before he could say anything else, another voice cut in.

"I would like to see you try, young prince." The cool, steely voice belonging to the one and only asshole boomed as he sauntered into the room again. Jace's hands shook furiously, clattering the chains as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why keep you alive? Making a stupid mistake you say..." Valentine stroked his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "...I say it's all part of my well-thought and elaborate plan to get revenge on your pathetic excuse of a father."

Valentine grinned as he folded his arms across his chest in an authoritative stance, his gaze hard on Jace's. "Picture this—The last bloodline of the Herondales and former heir to the Idrisian throne reduced to the bottom of the common trash, serving commoners, no less."

He chuckled darkly. "That's sure to make your father roll over in his grave in humiliation and agony as his feeble and helpless son is treated and tortured as a worthless slave. Even in death, your father won't be able to rest in peace. He'll watch as his only beloved son crumbles from his former life of glory while his enemy takes over the kingdom he worked so hard to build and protect."

Bending down so that he was eye-level with Jace, Valentine uttered in a low, calculated voice, "Think of yourself as the collateral damage. Your father had crossed me deeply—at more than one occasion in the past, if I may add—and you are simply..." He waved his hand around in the air carelessly. "…Atoning for his mistakes."

* * *

His hands shackled tightly in front of him, Jace trudged forward as Valentine's second-in-command, who had earlier introduced himself as Lucian Graymark, or Luke, flanked him on his right. They had set off for the market just shy of an hour after Valentine came to bid Jace farewell and 'good luck' for his new life as a slave.

Jace was still fuming, but he kept his cool as he reassured himself that he would get his vengeance in time. And until that day comes, he would let his hatred grow and fuel his will to live, even if the life that awaited him was nothing short of a terrible slave's life.

As they entered the market, Jace noticed that it was much more packed than usual. '_More of Valentine's people, no doubt_,' he reckoned with foul distaste.

Despite the chaos of the invasion the night before, business seemed to go on as normal, though there was a palpable tension in the atmosphere.

"Here we are," Luke announced, stopping in front of a makeshift wooden stage set up in the middle of what Jace recognized to be the market's square.

Perched on top of the stage was a portly gentleman dressed to the nines, much like most of the aristocrats in Idris. Behind him, in stark contrast, stood a line of men, women and children alike dressed in drab attire, or in Jace's frank opinion, rags.

'_Slaves_,' Jace thought, furrowing his eyebrows as he scrutinized them. '_The stout fellow on stage must be in charge of the slavery trade, then.'_

"Ahh, General Lucian Graymark. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? Looking for some slaves for the new king? I am sure I will be able to find him some suitable ones to accommodate his needs," the corpulent gentleman spoke in an eager voice as he approached Jace and Luke, who stood a ways off the stage.

"On the contrary, Malachi, no, that is not why I am here. Lord Valentine has sent me here to hand this boy over to you. He is to be sold as a slave," Luke replied good-naturedly as he gestured to Jace who stood up straight, his chin angled upwards, exuding an air of confidence like his father had taught him.

Malachi's eyes darted over to Jace, examining the eleven-year-old boy like a specimen before a look of recognition flashed over his face. "The boy?" He pointed to Jace. "P-prince Ja-Jace?" he stuttered questioningly, an eyebrow rose in confusion.

Luke nodded thoughtfully before simply replying, "Yes, he is."

Malachi continued to stare at Jace, his mouth slightly agape before Jace himself spoke up cockily, "I know I'm a stunningly attractive child, but you don't need to stare. It's terribly impolite. If my father was here, he wouldn't approve of your actions."

_'A bright and intellectual child, indeed, much like his parents_,' Luke thought with a carefully disguised smirk. _Shame he has to end up this way,'_ he almost sighed aloud. By no means did Luke agree with Valentine and what the man stood for, but being his second-in-command, most trusted companion and the godfather to his two children, he had no choice but to obey his orders.

Malachi cleared his throat, and his face flushed in slight embarrassment. Jace chuckled, watching in amusement as the man appeared to be having a raging internal battle with himself. "I, I—um—what I meant to—I, uh—"

Malachi cleared his throat again before asserting himself. "Right. Though it may be, your father is no longer the king, nor is he alive; therefore, I do not take orders from you anymore. Come this way," he finished hastily before gesturing to Jace to come join him and the other slaves on the stage.

Luke gave Jace a parting nod, which Jace, despite himself, found returning, before the soldier took his leave. Giving himself a silent pep talk, Jace strode up the steps confidently, and was immediately directed towards the front of the stage where Malachi stood.

As Jace positioned himself next to Malachi, he became aware of the attention that he had acquired from the crowd that had been idly meandering through the square. Amongst the throng of people that had gathered in front of the stage, he spotted faces light up in recognition of Jace's identity, some looking appalled and others simply surprised. Hushed whispers and murmurs ran through them, each one curiously musing about the young prince and what he was doing amongst the slavery stock.

As soon as Malachi had finished addressing the crowd's inquiries regarding the young prince, the square erupted in a pandemonium. Jace kept his disposition collected and indifferent, tuning out the noises of people shouting over one another their bidding prices in order to earn him as their slave.

_'Fuck this. Fuck them all,' _he thought sourly. If he'd thought for a second that someone would be loyal and kind enough to step up for the_ prince of Idris_, he was sorely mistaken. _Traitors_. None of them cared for him. None of them cared about what had happened to the royal family—'_The royal family that had, up until their deaths, been looking after all these ungrateful people and keeping them out of poverty and starvation,' _he added to himself.

Becoming increasingly bored and impatient, Jace began tapping his foot incessantly while humming the tune of a lullaby his mother used to sing him to sleep when he was a toddler. A smile ghosted over his lips as he remembered his mother's face—his mother who had always seemed to look at him with adoration and affection, even when he misbehaved. His mother, who had held him on pedestal, loving him unconditionally—_who was now gone_. Because of an asshole named Valentine. Jace's smile soon turned into a scowl, as last night's events began to wash over him for the umpteenth time today.

Just as he mused about how he would execute his revenge on the man whom he hated with a passion, Malachi tapped Jace on his shoulder, ceasing his plotting effectively and snapping his attention back to the present. Jace glanced over at Malachi as he slowly pushed him towards a slightly tanned, mildly muscled man standing by the right side of the stage.

As Jace approached him, he took in his new _master_—a man with dark hair and brown eyes—who looked oddly familiar to Jace. The man handed over his bid to Malachi, who accepted it with poorly concealed excitement, before taking Jace by his forearm lightly and leading him off the stage and away from the market.

* * *

As Jace trailed along after his master, he searched his memories for signs of recollection about the man. '_Who is he?'_ Jace questioned himself over and over again in his mind.

"I'm Michael Wayland. You may address me as Master or Sir," the man spoke, as though he had heard Jace's question.

_'Wayland… Michael Wayland? Why does that name ring a bell?'_ Jace pondered, a crease appearing in between his eyebrows as he fought hard to remember the important detail that he was certain was buried somewhere within the deep recesses of his mind. '_Think, Jace! Think!'_

"I am, or was, rather, your father's General, before I resigned from office a couple of years back and moved to Alicante, a fair country just west of Idris, to take part in some other…entertaining activities, shall we say—activities that your father and your grandfather did not particularly _condone_," he continued while Jace listened intently. He paused, looking back at Jace and smirked at the curious young boy. "Have you ever heard of gladiators, son?"

"Gladiators?" Jace echoed in a question, before shaking his head slightly, giving Michael the sign to continue talking.

"Men who take part in armed combat against other men or wild animals in arenas to entertain large crowds of people. They're warriors, who occasionally are forced to fight to the death, though usually the crowds have the final say on whether a gladiator lives or dies, depending on the value of the match," Michael explained, his hands clasped together behind his back as he walked. "These gladiators are usually slaves. Though in certain instances, once they've proven their worth in the arena, they are freed."

Jace sucked in a breath, a knowing look filled with a deep sense of foreboding etched onto his face, though he dared not speak up. He did not like where this one-sided conversation was leading to at all.

"Surely your father has trained you a little, though? Self-defense and all that?" Michael inquired. Jace merely nodded, his steps getting heavier as he followed Michael towards a plain-field meadow where a grey horse was waiting for them, its reins tied securely around the trunk of the single oak tree that grew there.

"Well, Jace, I may as well be forward with you. I understand you are still a young boy, but I see a lot of potential_—_fight—in you. You will make a fine gladiator one day, but until then I will train you. Make you stronger, faster. And maybe one day, you'll be good enough to earn your freedom," he finished with a smile.

Jace smiled back stiffly, schooling his features into a placid and neutral expression, although on the inside, he felt like he was about to combust. How much does one boy have to take in in less than 24 hours? As if it wasn't bad enough that he's a slave—now he's dragged into some gladiator shit.

'_Oh, joy. So much for killing Valentine. Now I have to get through a bunch of men who are open to the idea of killing for fun before I can get to him_,' he thought miserably, his chest tightening again.

Ugh, forget about completing his gladiator training, much less being killed by gladiators in an actual arena. At the rate his heart had been acting in the last few hours, he was going to die of a cardiac arrest before he even lived to be a teenager.

Once they reached the grey mare, Michael lifted Jace up easily, settling him onto the brown saddle before climbing up to sit behind him. Tugging the reins of the horse firmly, he led it to a steady gallop away from Idris.

"We'll start anew, at Alicante. I believe you'll settle in just fine, Jace. Don't worry about it," Michael said, his chest vibrating with silent laughter against Jace's back.

How Jace wanted to twist around and punch Michael in the face for telling him to not worry about it. The bastard_. _As far as he was concerned, he had every right to freak out.

He dug his nails into the front of the saddle, grinding his teeth together in agitation. Amidst all the chaos running through his head, a sudden calming thought hit him—

_'I will train hard. I will fight hard, and I will earn my place in the arena. And once I'm free, I'll come back to Idris and drag Valentine by his head and kill him in front of his family and the thousands of people watching. And finally, I will reclaim my birthright in Idris.'_

And with that in mind, Jace allowed a genuine smile to spread across his face.

* * *

**A/N:**

Hope you guys liked this chapter!

We'll meet Clary in the next one;)


	3. Chapter 2: Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

Hi, guys!

First off, I'd like to thank my fellow readers, followers etc. To my first four reviewers, thank you so much for your reviews; I really appreciate them!;)

So, to keep it short, here's Chapter Two! As the title suggests, it's when Jace comes home to Idris. And you'll meet Clary somewhere in the middle of this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Coming Home**

_8 years later…_

Jace ambled along amongst his fellow gladiator comrades steadily, the manacles holding his hands together no longer a hefty weight on him.

Michael's guards led the way on horses, one of them in front, two flanking each side, and two more minding the rear. The eight gladiators were aligned in pairs, their hands cuffed as usual, though they weren't chained to one another.

Michael himself was nowhere to be seen, often travelling at his own unhurried pace, trusting his guards to be capable of chaperoning his gladiators to each of their expected destinations.

The scorching sun bore down on Jace heavily, making sweat drip from his forehead down to his chin and soaking his shirt with perspiration. His throat felt parched, and his muscles were fatigued from the long distance he had been walking; yet he trudged on, his pace even though his heart and mind were racing.

Today was the day.

Today was the day that Jace would return to his homeland, to Idris.

_Finally_.

After eight years of brutal physical and psychological training to become a gladiator, Jace had made it to the big leagues. All the years of hard work had paid off and at long last, Jace would be competing at Arena Dumont, the largest and most extraordinary arena built for the gladiator games, and battle amongst the greatest of gladiators.

Jace smiled as each step took him closer to Valentine, the man he had sworn to kill eight years ago. The man who now shamelessly sat on his father's throne and overlooked the gladiator games.

A lot had changed since the day Jace was taken into the market and Michael had bought him from the slavery trade. Despite the bruises, the scars and the blood Jace had shed since he started his gladiator training, he had never once looked back on his journey with regret. In fact, he was deeply grateful for it. No longer was he was a scrawny, little boy who used to depend on his mother and father and had servants waiting on his hand and foot.

With time, Jace had hardened and grown into a handsome young man with a remarkable physique. Standing at a height of six foot two, Jace had a lean though fairly built figure with well-toned muscles that not only showed off his beauty, but his tremendous strength and his journey into a man. He wasn't the largest of gladiators in terms of size, but he certainly had an impressive repute.

Though he had started off pretty shakily, Jace always pushed himself beyond his limits when he trained, working on his weaknesses and fine-tuning the skills he had already mastered. Though Michael had never admitted it before, Jace knew he was secretly proud of how the young man had turned out.

Despite being one of the youngest gladiators to ever compete in a battle arena, having started at only the age of 17, Jace had defeated plenty of formidable opponents from far and wide, even those with a decade-long of experience on the battlefield and those twice his size. Now, two years later, Jace was a crowd favorite, and his gladiator name 'Shadowhunter' was well known across countries that celebrated the gladiator games.

Jace smirked as he recalled his first kill. Sure, when Michael entered him in his first ever, real combat, he was scared as hell. But as he stared down the face of his opponent, he remembered the one important lesson from training—and that was to never show your opponent your fear or vulnerabilities. So as his opponent made his first advance on him, Jace let himself get lost in the high of the battle, guiding his movements to be swift, graceful and precise as he countered each of his opponent's blows before finding the opening he needed to strike him down.

Needless to say, fighting was like second nature to Jace. He lived for the adrenaline and the adulation people showered him with each time he brought down his adversary. It was a thrilling lifestyle, and Jace relished every second of it.

_"Shadowhunter!"_ Michael's voice rang out, breaking him out of his musings. Jace stopped in his tracks and turned around gracefully to face Michael, who was galloping towards him on a grey horse, just a couple feet away from him.

_'Huh, he decided to catch up with us, after all,' _Jace smirked, stopping in his tracks to wait for his master and to allow himself a moment of respite.

"Here," Michael said as he retrieved a bottle of water from his satchel and tossed it to Jace to replenish his drying throat.

Jace caught the bottle easily, before unscrewing the cap and taking generous gulps of the offering. Jace knew that despite how hard Michael was on him, he had always held a certain fondness for him unlike the other gladiators he owned and was often concerned about his welfare. Actually, now that Jace came to think of it, Michael had never once regarded any of his other gladiators like he did him; it was almost as though Jace was indispensable, _special_, to him.

"Thanks," Jace replied as he passed Michael back the bottle of water.

Michael gave him a curt nod, before dismounting his horse to walk alongside Jace at a leisurely pace. They walked in comfortable silence, purposely straying behind the others.

"Now Jace," Michael began, immediately pulling Jace's attention back to him. Jace briefly noted that he was calling him by his actual name now instead of 'Shadowhunter'—as he usually did when it was just the two of them. "I know you've been looking forward to coming home since we left here eight years ago," Michael said, planning his words carefully. "But once we reach Idris, I expect you to have plenty of rest after your training and focus on the task at hand. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow and I want you to make a good impression on the crowd here. They tend to be…harder to please. Win them over, then maybe you can finally earn your freedom," Michael told him, patting Jace's back lightly as Jace rubbed the side of Michael's horse affectionately.

Jace only nodded, mentally preparing himself for what awaited him. He was undeniably nervous and excited at the same time.

'_How much has Idris changed since I left? Would anyone recognize me when I get home? What if Valentine recognizes me and orders a public execution before I can even get to him?_' he wondered as he ran his fingers through his damp curls.

As the Idrisian gates came into sight, Jace found himself holding his breath and his heart rate increasing even further. Michael gave him a reassuring wink before walking ahead of him, giving him time and space to collect himself.

Jace exhaled loudly before taking in a deeper breath to steel his nerves, then with a practiced mask of fearlessness, he strode forward confidently after Michael.

* * *

As it turns out, Idris hadn't changed much since Jace left. With the exception of Arena Dumont being added to facilitate the gladiator games, everything else looked the same as before.

Up ahead, the grand crystal glass towers of the Idrisian palace loomed, the spires stretching upwards to meet the swirling white clouds in the vast pale blue sky. Jace squinted his aureate eyes as one of the sun's rays glinted off the glass towers, fleetingly blinding him.

The market was just as busy as ever, with people coming in and out in throngs, shoving and talking over one another as they went along.

"Idris is crowded this time of the year," Michael began, scratching his chin pensively as they stalked towards a stall selling apples. "But it's even more so when the big gladiator events come around. In Idris, they organize a total of two major events in a year, each one a good six months away from the other to give these gladiators the time to train and recuperate from whatever injuries they have sustained from the previous games."

Michael paused momentarily, examining a stock of red apples before picking up two of them. Digging his left hand into the pockets of his trousers, he retrieved a single silver shilling before paying it to the stall vendor—a curvy teenage girl around Jace's age with platinum-blonde hair and steel-blue eyes.

She cast Jace a flirtatious gaze, jutting her bottom lip out slightly and bending forward to show off her cleavage in an attempt to look seductive.

Needless to say, Jace flippantly ignored her. He couldn't care less about girls, no matter how pretty they were. His mind was set on one thing and one thing only—killing Valentine—and he couldn't afford to be distracted.

Michael handed Jace an apple, which he graciously accepted before taking a large bite into it.

'_Hmm, crunchy and sweet,'_ Jace thought with a slight chuckle, the taste of the apple delighting his taste buds. It had been a long time since he last had something as remotely decent as an apple. Being a gladiator, his diet mainly consisted of barley, oatmeal, boiled beans, ash, and dried fruit. And most of the time, these meals tasted pretty bland, to say the least.

"Tomorrow would be the trial games, something like a preliminary round leading up to the year-end gladiator event," Michael continued as they moved along towards the direction of the Dumont, which was a good 10 minutes away on foot. "If you impress Valentine, and more importantly, the crowd tomorrow, you'll get through into the upcoming gladiator event."

"Sounds great," Jace replied half-heartedly, his eyes glazing over darkly as his thoughts flew to how he would kill Valentine and his family once the opportunity presented itself.

Michael looked over his shoulder at Jace, who was absentmindedly chewing on his apple and smirked. Reaching into his belt, Michael plucked out a set of keys, and then proceeded to remove the manacles on Jace's hands.

Jace frowned, silently questioning Michael on what he was doing.

"We have about a good hour to spare before we are due at Dumont," Michael explained. "Why don't you have a walk around, see how things are in Idris? Just don't wander off too far," he offered, patting Jace's back in a fatherly gesture. "Meet me back at the market square in the next half an hour."

Jace grinned back at Michael gratefully as he waved him off.

Letting his instincts take charge, Jace walked off in a random direction, a bounce in his step. Michael had never let him off on his own before, so the fact that he allowed him to made his chest soar with pride at the knowledge that he trusted him, even if he was a slave.

* * *

In his autopilot mode, Jace found that he had somehow led himself to the front of the bakery store his mother used to love, _Taki's. _As he took in a huge whiff of the once-familiar aroma of scrumptious bread, mixed with cinnamon, honey and spices, Jace felt his heart twinge a little.

He felt helpless as his memories invaded him once again, though this time it was of happier moments, of the times when his mother would let him pick out whatever he desired from _Taki's_—golden saffron sourdough bread, profiteroles, custard pies, and Jace's all-time favorite childhood treat, cupcakes.

Jace's expression turned sad for a moment as he realized he could never afford any of those treats ever again—not unless he was a free man. And only God knew when he would be free, he thought somberly.

Just as Jace was about to turn away, he felt a sharp tug on his left forearm. On impulse, Jace spun around swiftly and was about to retaliate when he realized that his 'attacker' was only a young boy by the age of nine with dark hair and grey eyes, and a pair of crooked, round-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He was grinning at Jace widely, his eyes were gleaming with excitement and awe.

"Whoa, cool! You're the one they call 'Shadowhunter', aren't you? I've heard stories about you! You're one of the youngest and best-est gladiators out there!" the boy exclaimed animatedly, his glasses bouncing up and down his nose as he bobbed on his feet.

Jace chuckled, bending down so that he was eye-level with the boy. "Yeah, that's me," he said smilingly.

The boy sucked in a breath, his eyes widening in glee before he started hopping up and down in front of Jace. "Oh, how cool is this? I got to meet one of the greatest gladiators ever in person!" he almost squealed.

Jace chuckled again, patting the boy lightly on his head. "Well, you know who I am. What's your name, buddy?" Jace asked, feeling himself warming up to the boy.

The boy opened his mouth, about to answer Jace when all of a sudden—

"Max!" A gentle yet firm female voice, mixed with both frustration and relief, cut in.

Jace and the boy, Max, turned their heads simultaneously to the direction of the owner of the voice—a stunningly beautiful yet petite young woman with fiery auburn tresses that curled down to her tiny waist and astonishingly mesmerizing emerald green eyes—who was currently stomping towards them angrily.

Feeling momentarily winded, Jace continued to kneel on the ground in a dumbfounded state until the girl stopped directly in front of him and Max. Snapping back into reality, he got onto his feet, brushing the knees of his pants hastily before facing the girl, who had her hands on her hips and was mildly glaring at Max.

At closer inspection, Jace noticed that the girl had pale, ivory skin, and a light dusting of freckles decorated her button nose. She wore very minimal make-up, choosing to keep her face natural, yet glowing with a youthful radiance. She wore a simple, floor-length cream-colored chiffon dress with an empire waist and a Mechlin lace bodice topped with a blood-red velvet cloak.

Jace sighed inwardly. She was the epitome of beauty.

"Max, what did I say about telling me or Isabelle before sneaking off somewhere? You could have easily gotten lost or worse, hurt!" the girl chided the boy as Jace continued appraising her with total abandon.

The corner of Max's lips twitched downwards slightly, his eyes shining with a tinge of remorse. "I'm sorry, Clary. I promise I won't do it again. Please don't get mad at me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered repeatedly in a small voice as he reached out to hug Clary by her waist.

Clary groaned, her glare softening as she bent down to reciprocate Max's hug. "It's fine, Max. Just don't do it again," she replied, her voice much gentler this time as she pushed Max's fringe out of his eyes.

Suddenly realizing that Jace was standing there gaping at her, Clary dropped her hold on Max and spun around to face him.

"Umm, uh—hi?" Clary uttered in a question, her cheeks blushing as she took in the appearance of the stranger who stood before her.

Though dressed rather shoddily in a tan-colored shirt made from canvas loincloth and brown leather pants matched with a pair of the same-colored leather boots, he stood out as a lean and handsome young man with high cheekbones and a sturdy jawline—much like her older brother Jonathan. He had silky-looking golden curls that reached just past his ears, matched with a pair of tawny, golden eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun. Even his skin was a golden tan.

'_Hmm, everything about him is golden...like an angel,'_ Clary mused dreamily before her face reddened again.

"Hi, there," Jace said, bowing slightly to greet Clary.

"Um, hi," Clary returned, a shy smile upon her flushed face. Turning back to Max, Clary said, "Why don't you go find Isabelle? I'm sure she's been wondering about where you are. Go on."

Max nodded, turning to leave in the direction that Clary came from, but not before shooting Jace an impish grin.

Jace smirked as the boy sprinted away, leaving him and Clary by themselves. Having composed himself a little, he tried to act nonchalant and threw a wink in Clary's direction, instantly making her face turn fifty shades of red that would put her own fiery red hair to shame.

Jace chuckled inwardly. '_Damn, she's so adorable when she blushes.'_

Clary cleared her throat, offering her hand to Jace as she introduced herself properly. "Princess Clarissa Adele Morgenstern, though I prefer to be called Clary," she spoke in a clear voice.

Jace's mouth fell open a little. '_Princess? She's Valentine's daughter? _Oh, of course she is, you idiot, can't you tell by the way she's dressed?_ Oh, shut up, you imbecile, I just forgot about the whole Valentine shit for a while_,' he argued, mentally giving himself a facepalm for not realizing who she was sooner.

He was screwed. Absolutely and totally screwed. Of all the people he had to run into, he had to come face-to-face with Valentine's daughter. '_The daughter of your enemy whom you swore to kill_,' he reminded himself again. '_Oh, fuck_.'

Clary frowned, tiny creases appearing in between her eyebrows as she dropped her hand, realizing that Jace wasn't going to take it. "Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" she demanded, her voice raised an octave higher in annoyance.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Princess. My name's 'Shadowhunter'. I'm a gladiator; I hail from Alicante," Jace simply answered, his voice cool and even, and his face vacant of any expression.

"Sooo, that's it?" Clary retorted. "You're not going to tell me your real name?"

"I apologize, Milady, but I believe I cannot do that. We gladiators are expected to keep our identities confidential."

"I don't remember there ever being such a rule!" Clary scoffed in disbelief, her arms crossed over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at Jace.

The gladiator smiled back at her smugly, his tall figure towering over her small frame of five foot three. '_For someone so tiny, she sure has enough temper to make her look intimidating. Adorable, yet alluring all the_ same—_'_

Shocked by the direction of his thoughts, Jace shook his head and mentally scowled at himself._ 'Damn you, Jace Herondale! Pull yourself together!_'

"Hmm, you're right. There might not be such a rule, but unfortunately, I don't feel comfortable disclosing such private details with you, my fair Lady. Therefore, unless you have earned my trust, Shadowhunter would have to do for now," Jace countered, making Clary narrow her eyes at him even further. He cringed inwardly at the truth behind his statement despite how offhanded he made it sound.

Rolling her eyes at him, Clary turned away from Jace sharply before stalking off into _Taki's._

_'Oh, boy,' _Jace sighed before following her into the store, feeling helplessly drawn to the fiery little girl. '_Might as well get some information out of her while I'm at it.'_

"So, tell me, how did the gladiator games came to be in Idris?" Jace asked casually as he trailed after Clary. She was holding a wooden tray in one hand and a pair of wooden tongs in the other. Pausing in front of the wooden rack that held a various assortment of breads, she chose a few loaves of freshly baked white-rye sourdough bread that smelt faintly of rosemary. "I heard that the king before your father, Stephen Herondale, and his father before him, did not condone the act of people fighting in arenas for the sake of entertainment."

Clary paused, dropping the pair of tongs back into its original station, before heading to the counter to pay for her purchase. The woman at the counter curtsied as Clary approached her, addressing her as 'Your Highness' before promptly packing the loaves of bread into a brown paper bag.

"Thank you, your Highness," the woman thanked her profusely after the princess presented her with three gold shillings as a generous tip. Clary merely nodded and left the store gracefully, with Jace still tailing her.

As they exited the store, Clary reached her right hand into the brown paper bag and took out a loaf of the sourdough bread that she'd bought from _Taki's _earlier. With a small smile, she offered it to Jace, who received it with a curious and stunned expression.

"Um, thanks," Jace said with an arched eyebrow, having not expected the princess to treat him to something as lavish as sourdough bread. He was a lowly slave, after all—a renowned gladiator, yes, but a slave nonetheless. Admittedly, sourdough bread was a common enough food for peasants and slaves, but the ones from _Taki's_—baked from the finest white bread and spices—were usually served for the elites.

"You're welcome," Clary simply replied before taking out her own bread and nibbling into it.

He followed her patiently as she led them away from the busy crowd of market-goers, over to a bench by a water fountain, secluded from the rest of the market. It was a beautiful fountain, Jace thought. In the middle of it was an angel dressed in full armory, holding up a sword and a cup to the sky, rising from the water. 'The Mortal Instruments/Angel Raziel', the plaque read.

After a minute or two of companionable silence as the two ate their breads, Clary finally answered Jace's earlier question. "The gladiator games have been going on here for about six years now. When I first moved here from Alicante—actually, where you were from—I was only ten years old, and they had just finished constructing the Arena Dumont. You see, my father loves the gladiator games. He always has, even back when we lived in Alicante, he has always been a big supporter of the games."

She took another bite of her bread while Jace listened attentively, his own bread long-finished. "I never liked the games, though. As a matter of fact, I hate it. I don't know what my father and everyone else sees in it. People getting butchered just for the sake of entertainment—that's just sick. It makes me really sick sometimes. I mean, how can you possibly take pleasure in someone else's pain and demise?" she said, her voice wavering at the end and her eyes tearing up a little.

"How do _you_ do it?" Clary asked suddenly, turning to Jace, her green eyes wide with innocence.

Baffled, Jace merely stared back at her, a tirade of emotions swimming in the pools of his golden orbs. Finally unable to withstand her expectant eyes, he averted his gaze, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I, it's just—it's—It's all I've ever known since—since I was a young boy," Jace stammered. He shut his eyes tightly, swallowing the pain he felt as he thought about the circumstances that led him to his current life.

"I was brought into this life without a choice. Sure, I used to feel disturbed by the idea of taking someone else's life into your own hands, but that's just the way it is—_Survival of the fittest. You either eat or you get eaten_. After a while, I just got used to it, I don't feel anything anymore when I fight, or when I kill. I'm just, numb to it, I guess," Jace replied, crinkling his forehead, his aureate eyes staring off into the far distance.

No one had ever asked him before what it was like to kill somebody else. And now that Jace thought of it, he felt cruel. He felt unbelievably cruel and inhumane. How _could_ he take someone's life away without a second thought, and without feeling remorseful about it after? And worse, how was he any better than Valentine in that sense? He was a monster, a cold-hearted monster. Just like the asshole who had taken his parents away from him.

_Shadowhunter! Shadowhunter!_

"Shadowhunter!" Clary's persistent voice knocked him out of his morbid epiphany. He blinked his eyes a couple of times before whipping his head around to meet Clary.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked worriedly, her hand cupping Jace's cheek comfortingly, almost like a reflex action.

Jace's breath hitched at the contact. He felt like sparks of electricity were coursing through his veins from that single touch. And to make matters worse, he found himself welcoming it.

'_Her hands are so soft, like silk_,' he found himself unconsciously thinking. A smile ghosted his lips before he caught himself and abruptly turned away, his voice rough as he answered, "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry your pretty little redhead over it."

Clary frowned, her chest throbbing a little in hurt when Jace flinched away from her touch, as though it had burnt him. '_What was I thinking, touching him like that? He probably didn't like being touched by anyone.'_

But those _sparks_…she felt sparks when she touched him. Like tiny prickles of static flowing through her body. Had he felt them too?

"Tell me about your father. How did he claim rule over Idris?" Jace interrogated her, his voice lined with a sudden dark emotion Clary could not comprehend.

Clearing her throat to get rid of the unexplainable disappointment she felt, Clary responded stonily, "My father has always been the rightful heir to the throne of Idris. My grandfather, the late King Marcus, was tricked by his adopted son, Stephen Herondale."

At this, Jace found his chest pulsating with profound hatred and lust for revenge that only a couple of minutes ago lay dormant. His fists clenched tightly to the point where his nails were digging into his skin.

He wanted so much to scream at Clary for accusing his father of being a liar. And what was that rubbish she was spouting about his father being the king's adopted son? If so, wouldn't that make Valentine his adopted uncle? Just the thought of being related to that monster, blood or not, sickened Jace.

He wanted to stop Clary right then and there and set the facts straight, but at the same time, he was dying to know the fabricated tale Valentine told his daughter; so he bit his tongue and inhaled a deep breath as Clary continued.

"According to my father, Stephen was always jealous of him growing up. He always competed for attention with my grandparents, wanting to be their favorite child, and because he was so desperate to get the throne, he came up with a clever plot to frame my father and accused him of stealing the kingdom's funds to sponsor the gladiator games in Alicante."

She paused fleetingly. "But, _in actual fact_, Stephen was the one who stole the money in an attempt to woo the woman my father was in love with, Celine Montclaire." Clary scoffed, rolling her eyes disdainfully, as though disgusted with the mere idea of Jace's mother.

"Well, it certainly worked, because after that, Celine left my father to be with Stephen. And in the end, my father was humiliated, disowned by his own biological family while Stephen was announced the successor to the throne."

Jace clenched his fists even tighter, and his body shook from being barely able to contain his anger. '_How dare she? How dare she insult and condemn my parents? How dare she accuse my father of being a scheming thief and insinuate that my mother was nothing but a money-eyed skank?_'

"So after years of careful planning, my father rallied his allies in Alicante and launched an attack on Idris, killing Stephen and his wife for their betrayal and reclaiming his throne. Sure it was cruel, but I'd say it was poetic justice," she finished contemptuously.

Jace slammed his hands against the wooden bench with great force, shattering Clary's attention from the story she was recounting. He stood up brusquely, pacing back and forth in front of Clary like a caged animal, his rage clearly displayed from the way his facial features were contorted into a deep scowl and his muscles were tensed to the brink where Clary could see his veins bulging.

Bewildered by his sudden mood change, Clary stood up from the bench and attempted to comfort the gladiator when he whipped around dangerously and snarled in a low voice, "_Never, ever, say that about Stephen and Celine Herondale ever again."_

Clary winced, utterly taken aback by the harshness in his tone. Seeing his golden eyes darkened to ochre with fury, all thoughts of comforting the gladiator vanished and she began to slowly cower away from him.

But Jace wasn't having any of it; he only edged closer to her, oblivious to her discomfort, to her fear of him.

"Do you know who your father really is, _Your Highness_?" Jace spat venomously, his loathing eyes trained on Clary's.

Clary shook her head helplessly, then, as if her knees could no longer hold her up, she collapsed against the bench, whimpering loudly.

"_No_?" Jace laughed mirthlessly. "Well, let me tell you about _your Father_, princess. He is nothing more than a _TRAITOR_—a _MURDERER_, and a _LIAR!_" he screamed, his face just an inch away from Clary's.

Tears began staining Clary's face. She was speechless, and utterly terrified of what the gladiator would do to her in his anger. He was a professional killer, after all. She wouldn't be surprised if he just lunged forward and strangled her or snapped her neck. He certainly had the brawn to do it. He admitted it himself that he felt numb towards the idea of killing.

What was to stop him from killing her? And worse, she didn't even know why he was so mad at her. Wasn't it only a minute ago they were getting along just fine?

"And _you_—" Jace pointed a finger at her, swallowing deeply, and for a split second, Clary saw a flash of hurt and betrayal cross his features.

"You're nothing more than your father's little puppet! You're such a hypocrite! You say gladiators repulse you with their inability to blink an eye and to feel remorse when they kill another human being, and yet, you sit here and you applaud your father's crimes, calling it poetic justice! And to think that you were different, _I just_—"

Jace raised his hands unexpectedly, and Clary, thinking that he was about to hit her, reflexively moved both of her arms up to shield herself, sobbing loudly.

At that, Jace sobered, breaking out of his angry haze. He ran his hands over his face and through his tousled hair, his chest constricting with a feeling he couldn't quite place. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he slowly backed away from Clary, a remorseful look on his face.

The girl remain frozen in her position on the bench, her body still shaking as more tears rolled down her delicate, porcelain face.

_'Way to go, Herondale. What the hell were you thinking? She hates you now, you know. She thought you were going to hit her. Way to earn her trust,' _his conscience chided him.

Jace wanted to kick himself in the gut; he had never felt more ashamed, and more disgusted at himself than he was now. His heart broke at the sight of Clary sobbing her eyes out, curling in on herself as though he was a predator and she his prey.

He did this. He scared her. And it broke him. _He had to fix this._

"I'm so sorry, Milady. I didn't mean to lose my temper at you. I don't know what came over me," Jace apologized quietly, his voice sincere and heavy with regret. "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry," he said, kneeling down in front of Clary and cautiously taking her tiny, soft hands into his large, calloused ones and kissing them gently.

Clary's sobbing turned into quiet hiccups; her heart rate slowed down to normal upon feeling his soft lips against her skin, and she tilted the gladiator's chin up, asking him to meet her eyes. As green met gold, Clary saw in them that he truly didn't mean to scare her and was deeply sorry for his outburst.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Isabelle's distressed voice chimed in.

"There you are, Clary! I've been looking all over for you!"

"Isabelle," Clary greeted her, hastily wiping at her eyes as discreetly as she could as the raven-haired beauty with dark brown eyes approached her at a hurried pace, her younger brother Max hot on her heels.

"Oh, Clary, are you okay?" Isabelle, her maid, asked her in a concerned tone. Then, upon noticing Clary's puffy, red eyes, Isabelle turned her gaze on Jace, shooting him a dagger look. "Did he do anything to you? Did the bastard hurt you?" she demanded, keeping her eyes trained on Jace.

Both Clary and Jace flinched at her vicious tone, and Clary was about to answer when Jace spoke up for her. "No, I didn't hurt her. We just had a misunderstanding, and I've already apologized to her," he said calmly.

Then, in a less serious voice, he added, "And for the record, my parents were married when they had me, so that makes me a very much legitimate child."

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head slightly at the gladiator's unnecessarily added remark, Clary finally found her voice, "He's right, Iz. He didn't do anything to me. We're fine." Isabelle just raised an eyebrow skeptically, not believing the princess one bit as she continued glaring at Jace.

Turning to Jace, Clary touched his jaw lightly. "You're forgiven. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to take my leave," she said.

Not giving Jace a chance to respond, Clary got up and motioned to Isabelle and Max to lead the way back to the palace.

"It was a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Shadowhunter. And good luck for the games. If fate were so kind to the both of us, I'll expect to see you again in the near future. Farewell," she bid him, giving him a parting nod before trailing after her servants.

"Farewell…_Clary," _Jace whispered once she was out of earshot, liking how effortlessly her name rolled off his tongue_._

He watched as the beautiful princess sashayed away, leaving him to ponder over her words. '_Will I ever get to see her again? Will she ever get to talk to me again should our paths cross?_'

Jace didn't know. But one thing was for sure—

He certainly hoped they _would_ meet again soon.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thoughts on Jace's meeting with Clary?:)


	4. Chapter 3: Doubts and 'Acquaintances'

**Author's Note:**

Hey, guys!;)

To start off, thank you to anyone who is reading, following, reviewing this story. Your support is deeply appreciated.

So, this is the third chapter; this is more of a filler—it basically follows Jace's thoughts about his meeting with Clary, and then later, you'll meet other character(s) when Jace reaches the Arena Dumont. p.s. I mostly referenced Dumont's appearance based on the Coliseum, but with its own TMI spin(?)

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Doubts and 'Acquaintances'**

Silence hung in the air as Jace walked alongside Michael. Despite Michael's numerous attempts at starting a conversation, Jace couldn't bring himself to amuse him with anything more than monotonous one-word responses; he felt mentally incapacitated as his mind kept on subconsciously wandering back to his encounter with Clary at the market.

Jace frowned, the lines of confusion and bewilderment marring his beautiful features. He had never cared about girls before. So why did he now? What was it about Clary that made her so special, so intriguing to Jace?

Sighing, Jace rubbed his temples in deep thought as Clary's face flashed through his mind. He couldn't quite fathom it, but Clary was definitely different from any other girl he had ever chanced upon. For one, she didn't try too hard to get his attention, and if he was being honest with himself, she didn't even need to try; she had enraptured him from the moment he laid eyes on her.

In truth, Jace had never met anyone whose beauty radiated of purity and innocence like Clary's did. What she lacked in terms of height and curves, Clary made up for with her dazzling green eyes and luscious fiery-red curls. Vaguely, Jace wondered what it would feel like to comb his long, pianist fingers through those beautiful tresses of hers.

'_She's your sworn enemy's daughter. You promised to kill him. You promised to kill his family. And that includes her!_' The hate-filled monster in him goaded, instantly crushing him out of his dream-like trance.

Jace's jaw set and the semblance of a smile that graced his lips moments ago slipped away. On the contrary, maybe_, just maybe,_ the reason behind his lust for Clary was simply because she was the enemy's daughter. _Maybe_ he just desired a taste of the forbidden fruit. After all, we always want what we can't have, right?

The thought sickened Jace, and he sighed again, louder this time.

"You okay, Jace?" Michael asked, breaking him out of his inner turmoil.

"Fine. Just thinking about—stuff," he replied offhandedly, hoping Michael wouldn't prod him any further.

"How was the market?" his master asked.

"Fine, nothing much. When are we going to get to Dumont?" Jace asked indifferently, hoping to change the subject.

"Soon," Michael replied evenly as they continued to walk, the silence stretching over them again save for the steady crunching sounds their boots produced each time they made contact with the concrete ground.

Against his better lack of self-control, Jace found his mind flitting back to Clary. '_She's Valentine's daughter, she's Valentine's daughter, she's Valentine's daughter,'_ he forced himself to think.

But like most words that were often repeated in his childhood, the meaning of those three words—'She's Valentine's daughter'—became completely lost. They were just empty words. Meaningless words. '_So what if she is?' _he challenged.

_'NO, STOP IT! Don't distract yourself. Don't let her distract you from what really matters here—Valentine. It's always been about Valentine. It's always been about avenging your parents. Not Clary. This has never been about Clary. She's not important here. Forget her, Jace. She'll only ruin you,' _he chastised himself, feeling increasingly exasperated.

Jace wanted to pull out his hair. This was all turning into a conundrum. Maybe it would be easier for him to get over his 'infatuation' with Clary if he could just place his finger on _what_ was it about her in the first place that drew him to her, his mind suggested.

Pursing his lips together in deep thought, Jace allowed his mind to roam back to his brief, albeit eventful, encounter with Clary in the market, trying to dissect each detail with a detached and objective mind.

In most other situations, analyzing details as such was usually _easy_. Since his mother's death, Jace had learnt how to cut off his emotional ties with anything and everything. It was easier to be disinterested, indifferent to things, he'd realized with time. With indifference, he didn't need to worry about committing himself to anything. All he ever needed, all he should ever need to care about, was himself.

Clary, on the other hand, was one of the few and very rare exceptions in this case—not that he necessarily realized it. All Jace knew was, he liked how Clary was so feisty, just like her red hair. She was sharp-witted and spoke from her mind, like he did, and wasn't afraid to be blunt.

But hell, her bluntness_—_much like Jace's sometimes_—_almost got her into trouble earlier though.

Jace clamped his eyes shut tightly, shaking his head to get rid of the image of a sobbing Clary shielding herself from him in fear of him striking her. He felt extremely remorseful and embarrassed for his earlier outburst. What the hell had he been thinking, losing his temper like that?

Again, Jace couldn't help but compare himself to Valentine, the vile monster who had violated his mother and then murdered her in cold blood. In the heat of his ire, Jace had unwittingly turned into a shadow of Valentine—he had almost harmed a woman, and not just any woman, but Clary. He still couldn't quite see why Clary was anything different from every other women he'd ever encountered, but he digressed. It was much too tiring to ponder about _that_.

But then again, he had a reason to be mad at Clary, didn't he? She had, after all, insulted his parents. As far as Jace was concerned, nobody had the right to insult them, especially when they didn't know the real story and the truth behind how they were killed. Clary had only ever been fed with lies by Valentine, and she had naïvely believed the man. Despite knowing that he shouldn't have taken Clary's words seriously_—_since she obviously had no idea what she was talking about_—_they had still stung Jace deeply.

And then there was another thing that completely blew him up. One moment she'd made it perfectly clear that she hated the gladiator games because it represented the idea of people killing each other as a sport, which truly sickened her; and then in the next moment, she'd actually contradicted herself by supporting her father's actions of killing his parents. What the hell was wrong with her? Did she have some sort of split personality disorder or something?

And then, there were just so many 'and's—

The fact that Clary had revealed that his parents and Valentine had had somewhat of a past together had definitely caused a stir in Jace_._

His father and Valentine used to be adopted siblings? His mother was Valentine's ex-lover? What the hell was that all about? Was it possible that they were more connected to one another than he'd initially thought? Was it possible that his parents were really involved in all those treachery, in framing Valentine for a crime he might not have committed? That they had both been manipulative and desperate to gain the throne? In that case, wouldn't that make Clary right—that Stephen and Celine got what they deserve for betraying Valentine? And if that were so, where did it leave Jace? Would it be right if he were to reclaim his so-called birthright, something that was _never_ actually meant to be _his_?

_Or_ were all this new information more lies that Valentine had created to cover his tracks, to make him appear as a victim in his family's eyes?

_And then, _what about Michael?

Michael was Stephen's former general, and a former citizen of Idris. Surely he would have known about all of this…mess. Jace could ask Michael, to clarify all of these unanswered questions. But then, if Michael did know, why didn't he say anything to Jace in the first place? He had the right to know. He had the right to know about his parents, and their history with Valentine, if they ever had one.

Michael knew that much—how much Jace resented Valentine, even if he had never told Michael what Valentine had really done to his parents. So what did that make Michael? Whose side was he on? And more importantly, whose side _is _he on now? Could Michael even be trusted? What if he had something planned with Valentine? What if they had agreed for Michael to train Jace as a gladiator, gain his trust, and when the time came, he would bring Jace back to Idris and lead him like a lamb to his slaughter?

It sounded like a terribly elaborate scheme, but Jace wouldn't put it past Valentine to come up with something as vile and manipulative as that. _Not _that Jace was being overly paranoid either_._

He groaned. So much for settling the unrest in his mind_—_Jace was even more discombobulated now. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

'_Damn it, Clary! Why'd you have to tell me all this shit and plant this seed of doubt in me? Why? I had a perfectly laid out plan, and I was ready to follow it through and execute it, and you just had to come along and ruin everything!_' Jace thought, raking his fingers through his already messy curls.

Somewhere in the cavernous depths of his mind, Jace knew that the reason Clary even told him that information was because he had asked her himself. '_Stupid! You couldn't have just walked away from her?'_

"There it is!" Michael exclaimed, pointing to the tall, sturdy structure that loomed ahead of them, instantly shattering Jace's reverie. His eyes snapped up and his breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Arena Dumont.

Heavily constructed from white concrete marble, the Arena Dumont resembled an impenetrable fortress.

_'Wow. No wonder it's called 'the arenas of all arenas','_ Jace gulped, feeling slightly intimidated by the majestic structure that towered over him.

It was huge—astoundingly huge.

A soaring 200 feet high, Dumont was a monumental façade built in an elliptical shape, comprising of four stories of superimposed galleries capped by a podium allowing for an attic to stand, and on each level were windows that were scattered at a uniform distance away from one another.

Gracing the white marble stone of the structure were statues of avenging angels wielding weapons, and fine, intricate carvings of ancient runes of strength, agility and fearlessness that were believed to be symbols of power drawn by the gladiators when in battle. Just above the main entrance, was an engraving of the royal crest, —a falling star—an emblem belonging the ruling family of Idris, the Morgensterns.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Michael asked as they entered the arena, noticing that Jace's eyes were lit with a childlike enthusiasm.

His musings of Clary, Valentine, Michael and his parents chucked aside, Jace merely nodded, unable to form coherent words to describe the thoughts that were running through his head at the moment.

"Well, if we had time, we could have probably taken a little tour of the place. But as it is, we are already running late. They've been expecting our arrival at the gladiator barracks just behind the arena about 10 minutes ago, so we are going to have to forego our little 'field trip' of the place," Michael said, much to Jace's disappointment.

"We'll have time to look around once we've settled in, Jace. No need to look so disgruntled," Michael added, mocking Jace's sulky expression. '_For an intimidating gladiator, he could be such a four-year-old sometimes,' _Michael chuckled to himself as they silently navigated their way through the heavily lit tunnels underneath the arena to the gladiator barracks.

* * *

"Welcome to the gladiator barracks." A deep voice belonging to one of the two guards stationed at the entrance of the barracks greeted Jace and Michael as they exited the tunnels.

Michael nodded, smiling courteously at the bulky young man who was dressed in a plain bronze armor over a blood-red long-sleeved cotton shirt, a sword sheathed in a wooden scabbard dangling from the belt at his waist.

Allowing Michael to deal with the guard, Jace decided to take in his surroundings instead.

A large, lush-green field surrounded by evenly interspersed pillars to form the simulation of a battlefield lay spread out in front of them. Just beyond the training space, to the right, were the standard holding cells to accommodate the gladiators, and just across from it, Jace assumed, was the mess hall where the gladiators would gather for their meals.

"You may find the warden, Emil Pangborn, in the mess hall, together with the rest of the gladiators who are having their lunch." The guard pointed to the white, run-down 'building'—_if you could even call it that_—located at the far-left side of the field.

Michael nodded again gratefully and strode off briskly, Jace at his side. As Michael pushed open the wooden doors of the mess hall, Jace sucked in a breath.

In stark contrast to the grandeur of the Arena Dumont, the mess hall was a shambles, with wooden floors that were so moldy and dusty Jace wondered when was the last time someone had even bothered to mop it. The plaster walls, which had been painted white, were peeling and yellowing with age. The ceiling was lined with cracks and had cobwebs dangling from the edges. And to top it all off, a rustic, or more appropriately, rusty, Gothic chandelier with old French candles hung in the middle of the ceiling.

Not long after Jace and Michael had made their presence known, 30 pairs of curious eyes drifted over to meet them, and a tall, burly man with short-cropped black hair dressed in a white-collared cotton shirt and brown leather pants strode over to welcome the two newcomers.

"Good afternoon. My name is Emil Pangborn, and I am the warden here. I am in charge of all the guards as well as the gladiators here, overseeing their duties and training, and such," the man said in a blasé tone.

"Michael Wayland," Michael returned, shaking the man's hand civilly. "This is my gladiator, 'Shadowhunter'." He gestured to Jace, who nodded curtly in greeting, his expression guarded and aloof. It was agreed between both Jace and Michael, that for the sake of Jace's safety, his real identity would be kept anonymous and thus, he would only be known by his gladiator name, 'Shadowhunter'.

"Ah, Shadowhunter. So you're the one they've been talking about. It's an honor to finally have you here," Emil replied, attempting to sound sincere and interested in Jace.

"Nice to meet you," Jace said jadedly, not even bothering to look at Emil as he scanned the faces of the other gladiators who were, in turn, examining him peculiarly. "May I go join them?" Jace asked Michael, sparing his master a brief glance.

"Sure, I'll talk to you later," Michael answered with a nod.

Just as Jace was about to take a step forward, Michael gently tugged his elbow back and whispered knowingly, "Remember to play nice, Shadowhunter. Wouldn't want to make enemies on your first day here."

Jace pulled back, cocking an eyebrow while Michael simply winked at him. Twitching his lips into a half-smirk, his earlier doubts about Michael forgotten, Jace quipped, "No need to fret over me, Master. I'm always _nice_."

Michael watched as Jace sauntered away, shaking his head lightly at the boy. He can only hope Jace wouldn't stir up any disputes anytime soon—especially in the mess hall. It could get really…messy.

As Jace collected his lunch from the food station, his eyes landed on the youngest-looking group of gladiators seated at a table in the far right-hand corner of the room—there were eight of them, and out of all the gladiators in the room, they probably looked the most intimidating. _'Time to get acquainted with my new buddies,'_ Jace thought as he walked over to them in a coolheaded manner.

"Hello, there," Jace greeted cheerily, mustering his sardonic wit at the group of gladiators as he took a seat amongst them, a bowl of thick, lumpy broth in his hands. The group of men simply glared back at Jace, their expressions bitter and hostile as Jace began to dig into his food.

"You know, I have a strong feeling we're all going to be the best of friends," Jace said excitedly, deliberately showing off the contents of the half-chewed food in his mouth.

"Ooh, I know! How about a sleepover tonight? We could all hang out in my cell, paint each other's toenails and talk about all the cute, buff guards here—maybe even give each other's makeovers! What do you say?" he prattled on incessantly, the chewed food in his mouth flying all over the table and incidentally landing on one of the gladiators' faces.

The young man with jet-black hair and cold blue eyes seated across from Jace—the victim of Jace's food spit, apparently—wiped his face disgustedly and slammed his fist against the table, rattling the utensils as he leaned forward towards him.

"Why don't you just fuck off?" he snarled in an acidic tone. "Just because you're the _oh-so-famous_ 'Shadowhunter', it doesn't mean you get to throw your weight around here. In fact, I'd watch your back if I were you. You're the first one I'll kill tomorrow," he threatened.

Wiping an invisible tear from his eye theatrically, Jace feigned a sob. "Why are you being so mean to me? I only want to make friends!"

In a puerile tantrum, Jace flung his spoon across the table and began to weep loudly, purposely attracting the attention of all the other gladiators in the room in an attempt to provoke a rise out of the other boy.

From afar, Michael stood next to Emil, pausing midway in their conversation to stare wide-eyed at Jace. '_The stupid boy's at it again,'_ he groaned, putting his hands in his face in disbelief. '_Just for once, just once. Why won't he listen to me?'_

The blue-eyed boy swung his fist forward, and Jace, having seen it coming, ducked out of the way before taking his own swing at the other boy. His fist connected with the boy's jaw hard and he flew off the bench and onto the floor.

"You son of a bitch!" the boy yelled savagely, springing onto his feet and charging towards Jace.

In a split second, both boys were on the ground, taking turns throwing swift kicks and punches at each other. Meanwhile, all the other gladiators just watched the scuffle in amusement, not bothering in the least bit to break up the fight.

A couple of bruises and a bloodied lip later, the two were finally disentangled from the other by a group of bulky guards.

"This isn't over yet! I'll still kick your ass, you bloody piece of shit!" the boy continued screaming, his body viciously struggling against the three pairs of hands that were restraining him from pouncing onto Jace.

Just across the room, Jace held himself together in a relaxed stance, his arms folded across his chest as he petulantly made faces at the other boy, infuriating him even further and causing his flailing to become more forceful.

_'Ah, all in a day's work,'_ Jace smirked, feeling completely satisfied with himself. As much as he was determined to kill Valentine, he enjoyed starting fights among his fellow gladiators. It was all about sizing up the competition, he often told himself. And in this case, it provided him with a much needed distraction from a certain redhead.

Soon after, with the help of three other guards, the blue-eyed boy was escorted out of the room and into his cell, and with that, order was once again restored to the mess hall.

Jace, as punishment for inciting the display of unruly behavior, was forced to stay behind and help out with cleaning all the dishes and utensils once the rest of the gladiators were dismissed for their training—though he didn't really have much to complain about it.

As predicted, once he was let out for training, Michael intercepted him for a round of nagging, though Jace, being the insouciant person that he was, effortlessly tuned him out. Personally, he thought it was an awful waste of precious time that he could have spent training. And besides that, every lecture Michael gave him was basically a repetition of the same things like, "Jace, you need to stop being so reckless. It's really getting old," or, "Jace, I understand how hard it must be for you, but you really need to learn how to control yourself and refrain from making a scene…"

Jace scoffed_. 'As if.'_

As he finally headed over to the field, Jace caught sight of the blue-eyed boy, a wooden blade in his hand as he sparred furiously with another gladiator with brown hair and tan olive skin.

Unable to help himself, Jace leaned against one of the pillars at the far corner of the field to observe the boy's fighting skills and technique. He was _good_, a fairly proficient fighter, Jace had to admit—though his style was quite different from his own. While Jace was much more acrobatic and depended more on his agility to wear his opponent down, the boy relied more on his body strength, focusing on landing as direct, accurate and debilitating a blow as possible to end the fight quickly.

A few more traded blows later, the brown-haired boy was pinned to the ground while the blue-eyed one stood over him victoriously, holding the wooden knife to his opponent's throat. He smirked, and then as if sensing that he was being watched, his gaze shifted to meet Jace's, who grinned back at him smugly.

The boy's jaw set, then just as he was about to lunge towards where Jace was standing, a couple of guards stepped forward to hold him back and dragged him across the opposite direction of the field, encouraging a string of curses to spew out from his mouth.

After that, the rest of the day went on uneventfully.

Taking into account the brawl that happened between Jace and the blue-eyed boy earlier that afternoon, Emil made sure that a handful of guards were stationed on all corners of the field to supervise the gladiators as they trained, ready to intervene if necessary.

Deciding that he'd already wasted enough of his time, Jace began to lose himself in training, even managing to spar with a couple of the other gladiators who were more than willing to challenge the great Shadowhunter's skills.

Being the proficient warrior and good sport that he was, Jace, of course, let his contenders put up a good fight, at the same time, making sure to note their defects. More often than not, the other gladiators tended to go more on the offense, as if by displaying their aggression, they were proving themselves to be skilful competitors. Needless to say, very few impressed Jace, who hung back most of the time, moving only to parry their blows.

Not realizing that Jace's lack of offense was actually part of his strategy to wear his opponents' down, they would often hit harder blows in vain attempts to weaken the golden-haired gladiator, only to grow progressively wearier as the fight went on. Jace found it rather amusing, to say the least. The moment their momentum began to show signs of faltering, Jace would immediately seize his opportunity to strike, besting his opponents—each with only a single blow.

He didn't stop there. He was on a roll, and he made good use of the time he had to train with all the various weapons they gave him—swords, daggers, throwing spears, and even maces. He wanted to be ready, and he wanted to prove to the spectators, and Valentine, watching tomorrow that he was a top contender and a force to be reckoned with. He was going to 'win them over'—as Michael had put it—and he was going to earn his redemption.

As the moon settled over in Idris and the gladiators turned into their cells for the night, Jace was still brimming with the adrenaline he'd acquired from training. He smiled as he recalled the productive training session he'd had today.

Lying on his back on the flimsy mattress in the confines of his cell, his hands tucked beneath his head as he looked up at the ceiling, he felt more confident about walking into the trial games tomorrow.

'_Watch out, Valentine. I'm coming for you. I'm ready for anything you throw at me,'_ he thought darkly.

_'You are my target, and I am the arrow that's ready to strike you down.'_

* * *

**A/N:**

OK, personally, as a reader, I criticize my own writing for this chapter, especially towards the end. Ugh, sorry if the flow is a bit jerky.

But, anyway, I hope that at least some of you liked this chapter... Review?

Some questions...

1) What are your thoughts on Jace's thoughts? Is he being overly-paranoid?

2) Thoughts on Michael?

3) Who is this 'mysterious' blue-eyed boy?;)

Stay tuned for the next chapter; I think it's quite obvious what's coming up next...

XO!

~N


	5. Chapter 4: Trial Games & Announcements

**Author's Note:**

Hi, guys!:) Here is Chapter 4.

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters;)

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Trial Games and Announcements**

"Gladiators, listen up!" Emil ordered as the warriors huddled up together behind the massive, iron-wrought gates that would, moments later, lead them into the arena, and onto the battlefield.

Jace bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as the intense rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins, his golden eyes blazing with focus and excitement.

"The layout of today's event is simple—you will _not _be fighting against each other. No, today it's going to be a full-out massacre where you will all be chained to the pillar in the middle of that arena, and you will be forced to fend off the attack from the Idrisian prisoners-of-war!" Emil barked at them, a malicious smirk spreading across his face. "Make it out of there alive and you'll qualify for the final gladiator games, and if you don't, then you unlucky sons of bitches are going to be dinner for the lions tonight, understood?!"

'_Now there's a lovely chap who obviously enjoys seeing people getting their blood spilled_,' Jace thought derisively.

"Any questions?" Emil's deep voice echoed off the walls as he inspected the gladiators, his hands clasped together behind his back in a firm stance.

The horn signaling the start of the games blared through Dumont, and as if on cue, the gates were raised.

Jace secured a helmet with a full visor on his head, and adjusted the dull, brown armor that he wore over his usual shirt and leather pants. Ignoring the violent drumming in his chest, Jace took in deep breaths to steel his nerves. _'I am ready, and I am fearless,'_ he chanted the words over and over in his head like a mantra.

Outside, the crowd was cheering wildly in anticipation of the gladiators to emerge into the arena, but in the heat of the moment, they were nothing but white noise to Jace. As he stepped out into the battlefield of the arena, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight, Jace could hear his pulse pounding in his eardrums.

Once all the competing gladiators had made it out onto the field, the guards came around and began chaining them up to the tall, huge pillar that was set up in the middle of the arena. Jace's right hand was shackled, leaving his left one free; luckily for him, he was left-handed.

He bent down, picking up the shield and sword that lay at his feet and began swinging the sword around in circles in his wrist, his eyes focused on the four entrances surrounding the arena that would later release the prisoners that they would be fighting against.

It was definitely going to go down like a massive cattle slaughter, his mind hummed noisily.

He looked up at the galleries of the arena, stupefied by the tens of thousands of people—no, probably closer to a hundred thousand people—that stood on their feet, cheering for the gladiators. His eyes darted to the balcony, where a dais was constructed for the royal family.

His eyes burned with rage as he saw Valentine—his hair as white as snow and his eyes still as black and demonic as ever—stood up from his seat, and raised his arms to greet the crowd and the gladiators. He was dressed sharply in an expensive-tailored royal blue velvet suit, and the royal crest hung from his neck in the form of a pendant. His face was as smug as ever.

Jace growled low in his throat. '_Your time will come soon,' _he promised.

"Welcome, people of Idris, and gladiators to the preliminary round of the gladiator games!" Valentine's thunderous voice boomed through the arena.

Jace scoffed, rolling his eyes indignantly. He couldn't give a damn about what Valentine had to say—not unless he was going to announce that he was going to throw himself at a pack of hungry lions. Other than that, nope, Jace didn't give a shit about what came out of his filthy, pretentious mouth.

His eyes scanned the dais, taking in the sight of the rest of the Morgenstern family. It came as a surprise to him that Valentine's wife wasn't amongst them—perhaps she was ill? He didn't know how she looked like, but he imagined her to be the splitting image of Clary since she bore no resemblance at all to Valentine—_thank God for that._ Jace didn't know if he could tolerate Clary if she looked anything at all like that demon.

Seated to Valentine's right was a young man, around Jace's age, who looked like a younger version of Valentine with his white-blonde hair and built figure, though he had green eyes and carried a playful smirk. He wore a white dress shirt that was tucked out of his dark blue trousers, and was noticeably joking with a person seated to his left—Clary.

Jace stifled a gasp at the sight of her. She looked like a Grecian goddess, in a one-shoulder ivory silk dress decorated with gold sequins, and a gold cinch belt around her tiny waist. Her auburn hair hung over her right shoulder in a French braid, and a simple, ivy-themed tiara graced her head.

She was laughing back at the young man, her brother; though Jace could tell that she wasn't comfortable with being at Dumont and having to watch the games. He could see it in the way she was fidgeting with her fingers and her eyes were darting around nervously. How he wish he could hold her hands in his, and gaze into her eyes, just to take away her anxiety. She shouldn't have been forced to be here if she didn't want to.

As if sensing Jace's stare, Clary's emerald eyes landed on Jace, and he barely suppressed a choke. Did she recognize him? No, she couldn't possibly have. Jace's helmet covered practically his entire face and even his hair. But then again, she must have since she looked more at ease, and she was even smiling lightly at him.

'_Nope, it's just a coincidence, Jace. Quit overthinking this.'_ Jace shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, now's not the time to be distracted by Clary. '_Focus. FOCUS.'_

Jace turned to the gladiator on his right, and to his astonishment, he was met with the sapphire-blue eyes of the boy he fought with yesterday. The boy stared back at him, his eyes burning with grudge and hate.

As Jace gazed deeply into his stormy blue eyes, all of a sudden, a faint recollection, a memory, about the boy flashed through his mind—no, not of their meeting yesterday, but of an old memory they had shared years ago, when Jace was only four years old.

Jace _knew_ him—

He saw in his mind's eye as his four-year-old self tackled a slightly bigger, seven-year-old boy with black hair and piercing blue eyes to the ground, the two rolling over playfully with laughter. The boy was obviously stronger than Jace, but being the good sport that he was, he allowed Jace to pin him down and claim the victory in their staged fight, even congratulating Jace on his supposed success as he helped him up.

They had trained with each other everyday since then —until the day Valentine chose to attack Idris, of course. Jace remembered, how the last time he had seen the boy, he had been 11 and the latter 14; they had spent the rest of the afternoon underneath a big willow tree near Lake Lynn after their training, talking and laughing about random things, not having to bear the weight of the world on their shoulders. It was on that day that they had promised to become each other's '_parabatai_'—brothers-in-arms that would not only fight side by side in battle, but also willingly lay their lives down for each other.

Jace nearly laughed out loud at the memory. Why didn't he recognize him sooner?

"Alec?" Jace asked, startling the boy. His blue eyes softened a tad, before reclaiming their stormy gaze.

"How the hell do you know my name?" Alec demanded, pointing his sword to Jace's neck as if he was going to decapitate him.

"Alec, it's me! It's Jace!" he hissed.

Alec's blue eyes widened in shock. His mouth fell agape as he stared hard at Jace, though this time, it wasn't in hate, but in recognition. "Jace?" his voice softened. "Jace Herondale?"

"Shh, keep it down! They don't know I'm _me_," Jace whispered harshly as he leaned closer to Alec who continued staring at him, dumbfounded in shock.

"Honestly, Alec, I've said this before and I'll say it again—I know I'm stunning attractive but you don't have to stare at me. And keep your mouth shut; you're going to choke to death on flies instead of being killed by those prisoners! Really Alec, just imagine the epitaph on your gravestone: 'Alexander Gideon Lightwood, Gladiator of Idris, killed by common flies'," Jace quipped, rather inappropriately considering the compromising situation they were in.

"Oh shut up, Jace! I can't believe it's you! You bloody idiot and your big, cocky-ass mouth! Why didn't you say something earlier?" Alec snapped, though Jace could hear the faint happiness and relief in his voice at being reunited with his long-lost playmate, or rather, his childhood best friend.

"Well, I didn't have the chance to really look at you given you were busy trying to throw a punch in my face back at the mess hall. And let's be honest—the last time I saw you was eight years ago," Jace replied smoothly.

A second horn blew, prompting the gates of the four entrances to be raised. Jace looked up at the dais, noticing that Valentine had already finished his speech and was seated again beside his children. "Let the games begin!" he announced, leaning forward in his seat, watching the arena anticipatively.

Then came the sound of heavy footsteps of the prisoners running into the arena like a stampede. Jace's grip on his sword tightened, earlier jokes with Alec set aside.

"Alec, we are all going to have to stay together and watch each other's backs if we want to live," Jace said, meeting Alec's eyes firmly. Alec nodded, lightly tapping the blade of his own sword against Jace's in silent agreement.

Some forty men dressed in prisoner uniforms emerged, ten from each of the four entrances, wielding throwing spears and swords in their hands; it was no surprise that the gladiators were outnumbered by at least fifteen people. The Idrisian prisoners charged towards the middle of the arena where the gladiators were chained, their faces hard and unwavering.

As they got closer, Jace snapped into commander-mode, yelling out directions to the rest of the gladiators to huddle into close formation and to raise their shields in a defense position just as the prisoners hurled their spears towards them.

The spears landed everywhere—on the sandy ground of the arena, spiking some of the gladiators' shields, sticking out of the pillar, and even impaling four of the gladiators. With their throwing spears exhausted, the prisoners barreled towards the gladiators, brandishing their swords wildly in the air, while the gladiators stood their ground, readying for the attack.

And then the real fight began.

As swords clashed against one another, cries and yells rang out as the arena began to stain with blood.

Jace and Alec stood back-to-back to each other, easily working together as a duo, as they dodged the blows of their assailants and struck them down to their deaths.

It was easy, really, for Jace. His sword was like an extension of his own arm, and being absorbed in the high of the battle, his movements were fast yet controlled, fluid and smooth. And Alec was just as good as Jace was; he was poised and measured, channeling his aggression in each hit.

The Idrisian prisoners were only fairly skilled; they were not as graceful and their attacks were wild and careless. They gave too many openings, making it easy for both Jace and Alec to gain the upper hand. Not to mention, with both their skills combined, Jace and Alec was an unstoppable powerhouse, efficiently dominating the battlefield of their lesser opponents. They gave their rivals no opportunities to regroup, immediately diving for the kill once they were within their perimeter.

On the balcony, Clary sat stiffly, holding her breath and digging her nails into her brother's arm as she watched the bloodbath unravel in the arena. Her emerald eyes followed the tan, lean gladiator with the full-visor helmet intently as he moved in an elegant dance against his rivals. Clary was certain, despite not having seen his face, that the gladiator was the one she'd met at the market yesterday—'_Shadowhunter_', as he had introduced himself.

Clary had always resented watching these gladiators killing one another, but for once, she found herself silently rooting for _him. _She watched, entranced, as he tirelessly deflected attack after attack from the prisoners who charged at him, striking them in their midsections and slashing their necks decisively.

She let out a sharp gasp, fighting the bile from rising in her throat as one of the prisoners came close to piercing him in his chest, and he gracefully leaped back, the sword only merely grazing his armor. He flipped forward, over his opponent and just as he landed, he swiftly slew the man's head off.

As the man's decapitated form fell to the ground, Jace's eyes alerted him to Alec's current predicament—he was backed up against the pillar, his sword lay abandoned on the ground a few feet away from him, as three other prisoners cornered him.

Reacting purely on instinct, Jace sprinted towards his _parabatai_ with lightning speed. He jumped forward and rebounded off the pillar, releasing a spear that had been earlier stuck to the pillar on one of the prisoners, landing it in his chest. With the ferocity of a lion, he knocked down another prisoner to the ground, rolling on top of him before ramming his sword in his throat, spraying blood onto his helmet.

With the odds even, Alec promptly wrapped the long chains on his hand around the remaining prisoner's neck. He jumped onto latter's back, putting his full weight on him as he trapped him in a vicious headlock, effectively cutting off the supply of oxygen to his lungs and incapacitating him. With a swift flick of his wrist, he snapped the already immobilized prisoner's neck, grinning as his victim's body collapsed.

Before long, the number of Idrisian prisoners began to dwindle drastically, and the remaining gladiators—about 13 of them—stood tall against four of the surviving prisoners. With them being vastly outnumbered, the prisoners decided it was pointless to attack, and chose to drop their swords and raise their hands in surrender instead.

Jace and Alec turned to each other at the same time, grinning devilishly at their success as the final horn blew to announce the conclusion of the match.

Valentine rose from his seat, his arms raised as the spectators roared in applause for the gladiators. The entrances were lifted open again and guards appeared, stalking towards the remaining gladiators and prisoners.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the gladiators of the final gladiator games!" Valentine proclaimed, his grin large on his arrogant face, as the cheering intensified.

"My gladiators, I congratulate you on your valiant efforts of defeating the Idrisian prisoners-of-war. It is with great pleasure for me to formally extend my invitation to you to grace the final games with the display of your impressive skills of combat, like the true warriors that you are," Valentine continued, smiling proudly at the gladiators, as though they were his offspring.

Jace scoffed at that. '_Hypocrite,'_ he thought. Jace knew better, and he knew that Valentine was a false and pretentious man, a deceiver. He was obviously sucking up to the crowd, manipulating them into thinking that he cared for the gladiators.

Beside him, Alec was rolling his eyes at Valentine. "_'It is with great pleasure for me to formally extend my invitation to you…'"_ Alec said in a mocking voice, causing Jace to chuckle lightly.

"Well, he has our invitation…to kiss our asses," Jace muttered, clapping a hand on Alec's shoulder while Alec winked at him in return.

With the chaos over, the guards moved forward to unchain the remaining gladiators from the pillar, stripping them of their weapons at the same time, while the other four prisoners were led back to their cells.

With his hands now free of the chains, Jace trudged towards the entrance they came in to return to the barracks, Alec following closely behind him. He spared a final glance up at the dais at Clary, and saw the beautiful princess eyeing him, her face slightly paler than it originally was and her hand clutched her brother's tightly like a lifeline. She smiled nervously at Jace, and he nodded imperceptibly at her in return.

Did she really recognize him? Even with the helmet on?

Choosing to ignore the flutter of butterflies in his stomach at that thought, Jace walked briskly to the entrance, away from the crowd, away from Valentine, and away from Clary.

* * *

"Well, that was certainly a good show we put up there," Alec said as they dug into their dinner. Warm bread with chicken soup and wine were served that night, as celebration of the gladiators qualifying into the final games.

"Yeah, it certainly was. I mean, come on, with my amazing skills, why wouldn't it be?" Jace chuckled, bumping shoulders with Alec who sat on his left.

"Wow, since when did you two become so chummy-chummy?" the olive-skinned boy, Jordan, asked, his eyebrow quirked in amusement.

"Yeah, just yesterday you two were at each other's throats like sworn enemies," Will, a dark-haired boy with blue eyes added.

Jace and Alec shared a secret glance, smirking lightly. "Well, let's just say, in the heat of the battle, we decided to set our differences aside and unite against the common enemy," Jace said, while Alec laughed in agreement.

It was turning into quite a pleasant dinner, and this time around, Jace had actually managed to stay civil enough to make friends amongst the group. Their manly egos aside, the rest of the young gladiators were actually nice people to be around, Jace thought. Despite their bumpy start, they had agreed to put the past behind them and were beginning to make Jace feel welcome, as though he belonged with the rest of them.

Emil clapped his hands twice, and the gladiators paused their conversation to look up at their warden. "Evening, gladiators. Hope you're enjoying your dinner so far," he said, standing in the center of the mess hall.

"Now, as you all know, the games are three months away from today. So until the big day comes, you will all be expected to be present for training everyday. And not only that, you will also be expected to report for your nightly slave duties, which will be delegated to you shortly," Emil finished, glancing at a clipboard.

Jace nearly groaned. Slave duties? As far as Jace knew, he never had to perform slave duties before. What the hell were slave duties like anyway? Heaven forbid Jace had to be assigned to kitchen duties or laundry work. He shivered at the thought of being reduced to mundane womanly tasks. That would not be good for his delicate ego, especially if he were to be forced to wear a pink, frilly apron!

"Shadowhunter," Emil called. Jace snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Emil steadily. "You will report at the stables on the palace grounds of Idris and assist in managing the royal horses starting from tomorrow night onwards at eight. A servant boy, Simon Lewis, will be there to walk you through your duties and he will be held accountable for you, understood?"

Jace nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. At least he liked horses. '_It couldn't be that bad_,' Jace thought.

"Well, have fun cleaning up manure, Jace," Alec whispered, jabbing his elbow in Jace's ribs playfully.

Jace paled slightly. "What? You mean I have to clear stinky horse poop?"

Alec smiled deviously, enjoying his best friend's discomfort.

"What the hell are your duties then?" Jace demanded, narrowing his eyes at Alec resentfully.

"Well, unlike _you_, I've been assigned as an assistant to the royal physician, Magnus Bane. My duties are simple—running errands, and making sure the doctor's supplies are always in stock, you know, basically anything that does not involve animal dung," Alec said smugly, causing Jace to scowl enviously in return.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, letting slip a few choice curse words at his predicament.

When all of this was over, Jace was going to make sure he smothered Valentine's face with stinky horse poop.

* * *

**A/N:**

What do you guys think of this chapter? I hope the fight scene is good enough? I don't really know how to make the fighting that descriptive, so let's just leave it at that.

Anyway, please review!

I know the plot is going quite slowly but the pace will pick up a little in a few more chapters. The story will center on Clace soon cos as much as this is about Jace's journey to get revenge on Valentine, the big plot here is mostly CLACE.

XO!

~N


	6. Chapter 5: Duties and Dilemmas

**Author's Note:**

Hello, guys! ;)

Again, thank you to all who are reading my story and have followed/favorited/reviewed. I really appreciate all the support so far!

Ok, so this is chapter 5; it's more of a filler, and it takes place a day after the trial games when Jace has to report for his slave duties at the stables. And in case you guys are wondering about the character's ages, here's an overview:

Jace: 19

Clary: 15 turning 16

Jonathan: 23

Alec: 22

Isabelle: 17

Michael/Valentine: in their 40s

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Duties and Dilemmas**

"Here we are," Michael said as they stopped outside the royal stables.

Jace glanced up, taking in the appearance of the stables. It still looked the same as when his father first had it remodeled, with its crystal domed-roof and serpentine marble walls, decorated with engravings of intricate crisscross-shaped patterns. Inside the stables were 20 separate stalls made out of heart pine and steel to house exactly 20 horses, as well as a tack-room and a grooming area for the horses.

Jace sighed, folding his arms across his chest defiantly. "I still don't get why I have to do slave duties," he complained. "What if I run into Valentine?"

"Well, Jace, this is Idris, so gladiator or not, you are expected to pull your own weight and do your fair share of work around here," Michael replied patiently. "And as for Valentine, you needn't worry about bumping into him. I'm quite certain he's rather preoccupied with his duties of running the kingdom to be checking up on slaves. So unless you do something reckless to attract his attention, you should be able to make it out of here every night unscathed."

"Still—"

"Enough, _Shadowhunter," _Michael interrupted firmly. "I do not wish to hear any more of your protests. Go report to the servant Simon Lewis. I will be back for you at midnight to take you back to the cells," he said, his tone dismissive.

Letting out a deliberately dramatic sigh to convey his obvious displeasure, Jace then stomped into the stables as Michael took off to tend to his own affairs.

Not a moment later, a lanky, weasel-like teenage boy with brown curly hair and geeky spectacles emerged from one of the horses' stalls, a towel wrapped around his neck. He approached Jace cautiously, his brown eyes glazed over with a look Jace recognized to be fear—probably due to the sight of the latter's intimidating figure.

"Uh, hi, I'm Simon Lewis. You must be the gladiator I'm supposed to be in charge of," he said weakly.

"Yes, that's me. They call me Shadowhunter," Jace said tersely, his amber eyes purposely glaring at Simon.

At that, the brown-haired servant gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably.

"Why, Simon? Are you afraid of me?" Jace jibed in a sharp tone as he strode up to the boy, his face hovering only a few centimeters away from the latter's.

Feeling rattled by the abrupt closeness of their distance, Simon scrambled back hurriedly, tripping over an empty rusty bucket in the process. With one of his worn boots ensnared in the bucket, he awkwardly landed on his butt on the concrete-tiled floor of the stables, the impact causing his glasses to be knocked off his nose and onto the floor, sliding to a stop—_right by the gladiator's feet._

Stifling his laugh, Jace watched in complete mirth as the brown-haired servant began to fumble around for his glasses, his hands trembling furiously as beads of sweat began to coat his forehead.

He was obviously a _little_ more than nervous, Jace thought, a wider grin stretching across his face. Folding his arms across his chest, he resumed his earlier menacing stance—chest puffed out, eyes narrowed murderously. This was going to be more fun than he'd initially expected.

Once Simon had recovered his glasses, he hastily repositioned them onto the crook of his nose, and his face instantaneously drained of color when he saw the gladiator towering over him, a dangerous glint in his piercing golden eyes. Letting out a yelp, he clambered backwards against the floor, his brown eyes wide with panic when he met a dead end.

Jace let out a haughty laugh at the petrified look on the boy's face. "You're s-scareeeed," he sniggered loftily.

"N-no, I-I'm not scared," Simon replied squeakily, reminding Jace of a rat. "I'm just, uh, flustered—and um, a little jumpy—that's all."

"Whatever you say, Lewis," Jace said, beginning to sober up from his juvenile teasing.

Momentarily turning away from the servant, he began to eye the stables, a look of indifference on his face. "So," Jace drawled, "what do I have to do?" he asked, seemingly nonchalant as he picked at a loose thread on his shirt.

Picking himself up off the floor and making sure to keep a safe distance away from the gladiator, Simon cleared his throat and replied warily, "Uh, nothing much. Just make sure all the stables are clean, the horses are well brushed and fed and so on. It's simple, really."

Jace nodded, purposely continuing to make Simon uneasy by glaring at him. Just as he was about to open his mouth to poke more fun at the boy, a familiar melodic voice chimed in.

"Simon!" Clary called in a cheerful tone as she raced carelessly into the stables, flinging herself at the rat-boy.

A smile lit up the brown-haired boy's face and he caught her clumsily before hugging her to his chest.

"Hey, Clary," Simon replied, sounding more comfortable and casual this time.

"Oh, I've missed you so much, Simon. I'm so sorry I haven't seen you in a while. My father's been completely overbearing lately, making me sit through a bunch of boring etiquette lessons and whatnot," Clary groaned, tightening her embrace around the servant.

At that, a suffocated feeling enveloped Jace's chest, making his breathing slightly harsher. He turned away, scowling at the scene. For some reason, he felt, _strangely_, irked. It just didn't feel right, watching _them_ hold each other with that much affection. And Simon—Jace didn't like how Simon was looking at Clary like _that_, much less him touching her_._ It was so obvious that he was infatuated with Clary.

But then again, who wouldn't be smitten by Clary? She was beautiful and kind and _perfect_ in every other way.

Jace hated to admit it, but the feelings that were boiling inside of him felt strange, and overwhelmingly unfamiliar.

Pulling back from the hug, Clary rolled her eyes irritably. "I swear, Simon, he's trying to rule my life. He keeps going on and on with, 'Clarissa, you need to learn to be a proper lady. How do you expect a man to want you as his wife if you're constantly running around like a child, making a fool out of yourself?' Ugh, seriously, Simon, I need you to save me from him. I was this close from poking my eyes out with a fork at the dining table just now," she finished, pinching the air between her forefinger and thumb.

Unable to hold back his amusement at the princess's words, Jace let out a loud chortle, instantaneously directing the attention of the two friends over to him.

Clary inhaled sharply at the sight of him. She hadn't expected _her_ gladiator to be standing in the stables. Here.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Don't let me interrupt this _romantic_ reunion. Carry on! I just couldn't help but feel amused by your, um, 'request' of asking him to save you from your father. Yeah, he certainly looks capable of holding his own in a fight with his gangly frame," Jace said cynically.

Simon looked down at his feet, blushing furiously. "I, uh, I better go, Clary. I'll see you again, soon," Simon said, scurrying off before Clary could even protest.

Clary huffed at Jace in chagrin. "Look at what you've done! You've scared him off. You know, just because you have muscles, it doesn't give you the right to make fun of Simon!" Clary retorted in her friend's defense.

"Oh, no? Forgive me, Milady. I would have guessed that after my amazing display of fighting skills yesterday, I'd have already earned my bragging rights. And by the way, just out of pure _curiosity_, do you always throw yourself at your servants like that?" Jace asked, attempting to sound standoffish as he strolled towards one of the horses' stall. He stifled a gasp as he came face-to-face with a very familiar brown steed—Wayfarer; he had been Jace's horse, a gift from his father when he was four.

Clary narrowed her eyes as the gladiator turned his back on her. '_How rude.'_

"Not that that's any of your business, but Simon just so happens to be my best friend, therefore, I have every right to hug him. And, ugh, what are _you_ doing here anyway?" She managed in an exasperated tone.

Jace chuckled as Wayfarer nuzzled his head against his neck, letting out an affable neigh. "Haven't you been informed, Milady? Apparently, I've been assigned to mind the stables here every night," Jace answered easily, his honey eyes trained on the horse.

"That's my horse, Wayfarer," Clary said, eyeing Jace curiously. Wayfarer had never been particularly docile when it came to strangers, but oddly enough, he was taking to the golden gladiator pretty well. In fact, he was being more affectionate to _him_ than he had ever been with her.

She cocked her head to the side, observing the gladiator with a queer look as he brushed Wayfarer's mane, a tender look in his eyes. Without looking up, Jace drawled, "You know it's quite rude to stare. I would have expected someone of royalty like you to know some manners."

Clary blinked. "Well, pardon me, _kind sir_ for upsetting you with my staring," she retorted sarcastically, causing the corners of Jace's lips to twitch upwards in a small smirk.

Turning to her, he waved his hand flippantly before returning, "Apology accepted, your Highness." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "May I ask why were you staring at me? Apart from my charmingly good looks, of course."

Clary rolled her eyes before turning her expression serious. "It's just—I-um, I-uh" she stammered, not sure how to get her words out. She scratched the back of her neck, knitting her brows together nervously.

Meanwhile, Jace just stood there staring back at her, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. "It's just that I never thought someone like you could ever be so kind to animals," she let out hurriedly, purposely avoiding the gladiator's golden eyes.

A grim look passed over Jace's face. "Someone like me? What do you mean by that? _'Someone like you_'?" he questioned darkly.

Clary kept quiet, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden shift in mood, and chose to focus her eyes on the grout lines of the concrete-tiled floor instead. Then as if he caught on, Jace lowered his voice in a snarl.

"You mean a killer? Sounds awfully judgmental, don't you think? Sorry to disappoint your expectations, Princess, but apparently, killers can be compassionate and loving towards animals," he gritted out in between clenched teeth.

He paused, his tone suddenly sad as he said, "You know you're an awful lot like your father. You treat us gladiators like we're toys, as though we are incapable of feeling things."

At that, Clary snapped her head up, her gaze hot and burning on Jace. "I am _nothing_ like my father," she clipped angrily, fisting the sides of her gown.

"How the hell would you even know how my father is anyway? You don't know anything! And to reiterate my previous statement, in case you didn't manage to absorb anything in that infuriatingly large, pompous, egotistical head of yours, I am nothing like my father!"

Jace smirked in return, annoying Clary even more. "Well, that makes sense. Now that I think of it, you're right. You're nothing at all like your father," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Unless, of course, he is into cross-dressing, is short like a midget and has your crazy red hair. Though, if he were, I wouldn't imagine your father looking anywhere near as beautiful as you are!" he said with a laugh.

Clary flushed, taken aback by his comeback; _that_ wasn't what she was expecting at all.

But as she was learning, with the golden-haired gladiator, she really shouldn't have been so surprised. The boy probably suffers from a series of manic and melancholic episodes by how quickly his mood changes. Ugh, she didn't know whether to take his statement as a compliment or an insult.

Before Clary could even think of anything else to say, she heard her brother's voice calling out for her.

"Clary! Clare-bear!"

Clary's eyes softened considerably and a genuine smile slowly crept onto her face. She loved her brother. Despite him being the exact carbon copy of their father—except for his eyes—Jonathan was nothing at all like Valentine in terms of his character and personality.

While Valentine was cold and austere, Jonathan was the exact opposite, always easygoing and cracking jokes in the oddest of times it often ticked their father off. Despite his inane wit, Jonathan was, unarguably, a protective older brother; he was always looking out for Clary, even as a young boy who could barely stay out of trouble himself.

As much as a buffoon he was, Clary was grateful for Jonathan. If she were the only child, she would have probably run away or committed suicide by now with how stiff and uptight her father and his politics were—and not to mention, his disgusting obsession with the gladiator games. Amidst all the chaos that was her father, Jon was, ironically, the glue that held her together, though his level of maturity was still questionable for Clary.

She turned in the direction of her brother's voice, Jace forgotten, as her brother slowly came into view, a spring in his gait and a playful grin etched onto his sharp, angular face. "Little sister! There you are Clare-bear!"

Hugging Clary briefly, Jonathan said, "Father has summoned your presence in the throne room. He needs to speak with you immediately on some 'very pressing matters that cannot be put off any longer'." He imitated his father's deep voice, causing Clary to chuckle, before frowning a little.

"What does he want to talk about?" she enquired, her green eyes gleaming wide and innocent like a child's.

Jonathan shrugged, "Don't know. Didn't bother to ask him. Come on!" He tugged her right arm, his face nonchalant and carefree.

"I don't want to go!" Clary whined, pouting her lips a little as she gave Jonathan a puppy face. Jace smiled at Clary's uncharacteristic princess behavior.

"Ugh, Clarissa Adele Morgenstern, you move your cute, little derrière right now! I do not approve of this child-like behavior. You are almost 16 years old and I expect you to observe the attitude of a proper lady!" Jonathan admonished jokingly, waggling his finger in Clary's face as the redheaded princess pouted further and crossed her arms indignantly, stomping her right foot a little.

Jace watched the entire sibling banter with undisguised humor, leaning his back against Wayfarer's side, sniggering lightly at them. He had never had the opportunity of having any siblings, so watching Clary and her brother was nothing short of interesting to him.

His green eyes sparkling with mischief, Jonathan reached forward and grabbed at Clary's sides, tickling his sister viciously as she broke out into peals of high-pitched laughter. "Jon! Please! Stop!" Clary screeched, tears spilling over her cheeks, as Jonathan himself started chuckling.

Jace felt his heart flutter at the sound of Clary's laugh. It was adorable, just like her. If only he could make her laugh like that. He smiled dreamily, then mentally slapped himself. '_Christ, Herondale, you're turning into a big softie!'_

After some time, the white-blonde prince finally relented with Clary's pleading, then, as if only now realizing they had an audience, Jonathan swiveled round to face Jace. "Oh, hello, didn't see you there earlier. I'm Jonathan," he introduced himself casually before stepping towards Jace and offering his hand. Stunned, Jace stood unmoving for a brief moment before reciprocating the gesture with a firm handshake.

Staring at Jace expectantly, Jonathan asked, "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

Immediately, Jace's mind flashed back to when he first met Clary in the market in front of _Taki's_, and how she had asked him the exact same question.

"Shadowhunter," Jace simply replied, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Ah, I've heard of you. The youngest and most promising gladiator of our generation," Jonathan smiled, clapping a hand on Jace's shoulder. "Nice to meet you. I hope my sister hasn't been bothering you from your duties."

Lowering his voice to a whisper that was still audible to Clary, Jonathan said teasingly, "She can be a real annoyance sometimes. I should know; I've been stuck with her for nearly 16 years. Ever since she learnt how to talk, all she's done is badger me incessantly."

Jonathan sighed dramatically as Clary crept up behind him and smacked him playfully on the back of his head with a loud thwack.

"Ow! Where is the love, little sister?" Jonathan pouted, rubbing his head.

"Oh, suck it up, you big baby," Clary retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

Jonathan tut-tutted as Clary turned to Jace. "See you around, _Shadowhunter_," Clary said in an annoyed tone, then grabbed Jonathan by his ear, dragging him off roughly as she made her exit.

And for the second time in the last three days, Jace found himself secretly hoping to see the princess again soon.

* * *

"How was horse poop duty, Jace?" Alec teased casually as the two friends sparred against each other during training.

Alec lunged forward, aiming his wooden sword at Jace's torso while the latter neatly sidestepped out of the way. Feigning a low blow, Jace then leaped forward, suspending himself in the air for a few seconds before colliding into Alec, effectively disarming him as he pinned him to the ground.

His sword to Alec's neck, Jace smirked before saying, "I believe that's the third time I've killed you this afternoon, Alexander."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Jace, just don't let it go to your fat head. Besides, the sun was getting into my eyes and I couldn't see properly."

"Do I detect a sore loser, Alec? It's very unbecoming of you, giving me all these poor excuses," Jace quipped as he pulled Alec up to his feet. "And to answer your question, I had _fun_ shoveling manure. In fact, it was so _refreshing_ I could have sworn it was like a day at the spa. Do you notice anything different about me? I, for one, think my hair looks exceptionally shinier when I woke up this morning!" Jace said in mock-enthusiasm.

Making their way to the far end corner of the field, they plopped themselves down onto the grass, leaning their backs against the cool stone of the pillar there. "Have you by any chance met any of the royal family?" Alec asked, his face suddenly serious.

Jace stared at Alec's face briefly, trying to decipher the reason behind his question. "I have. Why?"

"Nothing," Alec said, looking down at his palms. Jace elbowed Alec lightly in the ribs, wordlessly asking him to elaborate. "I was just curious. Nothing more."

Jace raised his eyebrow dubiously. "You really expect me to believe that?"

Alec sighed. "I really don't know what you think you're supposed to believe, Jace. It was a simple question—let's just leave it at that."

"Well, in all fairness, I've only met the princess, Clary, and her brother, Jonathan. I still have yet to make my mind up about them but so far they've been nice," Jace said evenly, his mind absently straying to Clary.

Without thinking, Jace added, "From what I've seen, Jonathan's an idiot, but a good idiot anyway. He takes care of his sister and he's nowhere near cold or is an asshole like Valentine."

He smiled, his amber eyes softening like melted honey. "And Clary—you know the first time I met her, in the market when I arrived in Idris, she treated me like an equal. She bought me food from the bakery, she let me sit next to her and just talk to her. And then, when I got mad at her and I almost lost it, she just forgave me."

Jace laughed, almost to himself. "Clary's really frustrating, confusing, and unbelievably naïve…but she's definitely something of her own. I mean, I don't think I've ever met anyone as humble, modest, or as genuine as she is."

He looked at Alec, his face barely masking his internal conflict. "It's hard to believe that Valentine's her father. She may have horrible excuse of a man as a parent but I don't think Valentine's succeeded in tainting her. I don't think he _ever_ will," Jace's voice lowered to an almost wistful whisper.

Alec took on an unreadable expression. After a few minutes of silence, Alec sighed, almost wearily.

"Just be careful around them, Jace. As a matter of fact, I think it'd be best if you avoid them as much as possible. They're Valentine's children, they're probably as manipulative and deceitful as he is," Alec said dryly. "Nothing good will ever come out of a relationship with the Morgensterns."

He paused, eyeing Jace with an undecipherable look. "You don't happen to have romantic feelings for this _Clary, _do you?" Alec asked, his tone spiteful at the mention of Clary's name. "I mean the way you talk about her, it's like—"

"Not that it should be any of your concern, but _no, I don't_," Jace clipped, feeling his protective instincts flare up at Alec's comment.

Jace leveled Alec with a cold look. "You weren't there when Valentine killed my parents that night, Alec. You don't know the horrible things he'd done to them, to my mother. Do you really think I'd want to associate myself with Valentine's little _spawn?" _he spat bitterly, causing Alec to flinch.

Jace got onto his feet hastily, and without waiting for Alec, he headed towards his prison cell.

Alec was killing his mood, and he didn't want to be around him. Not if he was hell-bent on convincing him that Clary was bad for him when in truth, Jace was still unsure about his feelings about _her_.

But Alec did have a point, though. How sure was he that he could he trust Clary?

_'She's a Morgenstern, and Morgensterns are liars. When it comes down to blood, whose side do you think she'll stand on? Her father's brainwashed her into hating the Herondales—if she finds out who you really are, what's to stop her from turning you in? What's to stop her from turning against you?'_

Jace yelled out in frustration, burying his face in his hands. He bent down, tugging at his curls roughly. He clenched his left fist tightly, and without warning, he punched the wall hard, busting his knuckles.

"_Fuck!"_ Jace gritted out, biting his lip as a fresh wave of pain came over him. He lifted his bloodied fist and scowled at it. As the pain seeped in, realization dawned on him—

Clary's the reason he'd hurt himself.

And why was he letting that happen? He'd only known her for four days, and besides, she was just a girl, _the enemy's daughter._ There could be no future with the two of them in it together. Why can't he just accept that and save himself from this entire quandary that was clearly beginning to destroy everything he had once held certain?

He was done with this. He was beyond ready to move past this senseless, dimwitted phase and focus on everything he had built himself up for. So that just leaves one thing—cutting out Clary, from his life, from his mind, for good.

_'This settles it. No more Clary. No more pining over a Morgenstern girl. No more Clary,' _he thought resolutely.

* * *

**A/N:**

'No more Clary'?:(

Yes, Jace, you keep telling yourself that...

Thoughts?;)

XO!~N


	7. Chapter 6: A Weakening Resolve

**Author's Note:**

Hi, guys!:)

As always, thank you to everyone who is reading my story, especially those who have followed/favorited/reviewed:)

OK, so here's chapter 6! This is a relatively short chapter, and is more of a filler. But it's a Clace scene!;) So hope you guys enjoy it!

*P.S. This chapter has been re-edited; I've added in an explanation as to why women _can _wear pants in Idris, since based on actual history, they're actually not supposed to wear pants during this era.

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 6: A Weakening Resolve**

Jace scrunched his nose up in disgust as he shoveled pile after pile of horse manure from the stalls. The reek was dreadful; he fought the urge to throw up as the stench invaded his nostrils and infiltrated his olfactory system.

Nearly a week had passed since the start of his nightly duties at the stables and so far, Jace hadn't seen the Clary at all. Not long after his little spat with Alec, he had felt guilty for letting his confounded feelings over a girl get in the way of their long-forged friendship, so they had both decided to reconcile amicably.

And as for Jace's lack of encounters with Clary, it had been both a relief and a distress for him; the less he saw of Clary, the easier it was to ignore the burning feelings he had for her. Yet, in the days that he had spent in her absence, he'd been feeling as if there was a missing spark in him.

Jace hated to admit it but he missed Clary. He missed her innocent green eyes and her flaming red hair. He missed her smile, her laugh, and hell, he even missed bickering with her.

'_It's for the best, Jace. Maybe now you can finally get back to the task at hand, do what you've always planned from the start,_' his father's voice suddenly interjected in his head.

'_Huh, spiritual intervention, much?' _Jace thought, shaking his head. Lately, he had been having far too many third-person conversations with himself and it was beginning to drive him slightly over the edge.

"Hey." Her meek voice greeted him.

Jace started, almost tripping over his own feet and landing in the pile of manure at the sound of Clary's voice. He spun round quickly, his eyes widening in surprise as he took her in.

For the first time since their encounters, Clary had ditched her elaborate gowns for a long-sleeved white blouse and a pair of tight-fitting black leather pants, while a pair of thigh-high, silver-studded leather boots adorned her feet. Her auburn hair was in a side braid and she was clutching a matching black leather jacket in her hands.

Unable to help himself, Jace licked his lips, his golden eyes locked in an intense gaze with the princess. He felt as if he was under a spell, one that did not permit him to look away from the manifestation of beauty that was standing right in front of him.

Meanwhile, Clary began to shift a little awkwardly in her position, her cheeks looking slightly flushed from the gladiator's obvious staring. As she tugged her bottom lip in between her teeth nervously, Jace's gaze fell on her lips, causing him to swallow thickly.

'_Compose yourself, Herondale. No need to be so flustered. It's only Clary…in a sexy-leather-outfit-that's-practically-showing-off-her-delicate-curves… No big deal. Pfft, it's not so much of a turn-on with leather anyway. And especially since it's _only _Clary_.' Jace shivered, holding the shovel in a vise-grip, as if it were the only thing tethering him to his sanity. God help him.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Clary finally said, offering him a sheepish smile.

Jace cleared his throat nervously. "Quite right, Milady. I take it you must've been busy tending to your own duties," he said coolly, hiding his jitters. "No dress today I see?"

Clary's cheeks turned pink at his observation. "No," she said softly. "I didn't think it'd be appropriate since I'm planning to go out riding tonight. Why, do you think these clothes do not suit me?" she asked in a small voice, as if she was afraid of Jace's disapproval.

"No, I think they suit you very well. You look very fetching in leather, I think," Jace replied sincerely, eyeing her up and down appreciatively.

Clary blushed a deeper shade of red. "Thank you," she returned, looking at Jace with hooded eyes.

Jace could have sworn he felt a part of him twitch. He cleared his throat, trying to conjure up something to talk about in order to distract himself from his _problem_. "I don't recall ever seeing women in pants before," he said in an impassive tone.

"As a matter of fact, I've always thought that they were banned from wearing them," he said almost to himself, his face scrunching up into a small frown.

Clary shrugged, trying not to feel too offended by his rather sexist comment. "It is…in most countries, anyway, but, not in Idris," she replied, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I mean, dresses are still the standard appropriate attire for most women here, but a couple years back, my mother actually insisted on modifying the customs here to allow women to wear pants…you know, for practical reasons like horse riding…my father initially threw a big argument against it, but he eventually caved in," Clary explained.

Jace nodded, clearing his throat again. "So…what are you doing here?" he asked, completely diverting away from their most recent topic of discussion.

Clary furrowed her eyebrows at him warily. Was he about to launch himself into another one of his mood swings?

"I already answered that question, if you recall," she said slowly, her lips quirked in obvious scepticism.

Jace waved off her reply before turning his back on her momentarily, feeling his cheeks heat up a little in embarrassment. He felt like an idiot for even asking her the question. What was wrong with him, asking the obvious?

Instead of apologizing for his brusqueness though, Jace turned back to look at Clary and let the first words to slip into his mind out of his mouth. "It's late; you shouldn't be riding out there by yourself, especially since you're a princess," he said sternly, feeling a sudden overwhelming sense of protectiveness towards the redheaded girl.

At that, Clary bristled in annoyance before rolling her eyes. "What does me being a princess have anything to do with my decision to ride at night? As if it's not smothering enough being cooped up in the castle all day long, sitting through a bunch of useless lessons on how to become a 'proper lady'! What, now I can't even go out at night without someone breathing down my neck?" she demanded, frustrated tears shining in her emerald eyes. A tear escaped her eye and Clary harshly rubbed it away, sniffling a little.

Jace's features softened visibly in empathy and he felt a twinge of guilt for his previous unwarranted tactlessness. Having spent the last eight years of his life as a slave, he knew exactly how it felt like to feel trapped and controlled. And to live a life as _Valentine's_ _daughter_, to be fathered by a man who so obviously lusted and craved the very idea of control, Jace realized how terribly misjudged he must have been to think that Clary would be so fortunate as to be pardoned from having to grow up under Valentine's iron fist. It made him ascertain one thing: Clary deserved her own freedom, too.

"Would you like me to escort you, Milady?" Jace asked politely, inadvertently disregarding his rationale and resolution to avoid the princess.

Clary's green eyes searched Jace's amber ones warily, looking for a hint of condescendence but found none. She beamed at him shyly, nodding once. "I'd like that very much," she said.

Jace smiled back at her. Leaning his shovel against the side of Wayfarer's enclosure, he abandoned his earlier task of clearing horse dung eagerly. He knew there was an unspoken rule that slaves weren't allowed onto the royal horses, but honestly, since when was he one to care about rules?

No one would notice him gone anyway; he was sure that Valentine wasn't even aware of his existence, and as far as supervision went, it was very lax. There were no guards to mind the stables and Simon was only around when Jace reported for his duties—he usually wouldn't stay around for any longer than 15 minutes to 'observe' Jace before his discomfort would take over and prompt him to take his leave. Michael, on the other hand, would only be back to fetch him from the stables and walk him back to the barracks at midnight or sometimes even later than that.

No one would notice him missing. And besides, he was _mostly_ done with his duties anyway.

As Clary slipped her jacket on, Jace unlatched the bolts to Wayfarer's stall and led the brown steed out by its reins, bringing it to a halt next to Clary.

Once he had secured the chestnut-brown saddle on the horse, he mounted Wayfarer gracefully and offered a hand to assist Clary up.

Wordlessly, she accepted his hand, but not before feeling the jolt of electricity rushing through her veins upon the skin-to-skin contact. As soon as she was snugly seated behind the gladiator, she automatically wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his back, nuzzling into the space between his shoulder blades.

Jace felt his body tingle with the unusual feeling of pleasure and warmth. He stifled a surprised gasp, wondering if Clary could feel his heart pounding in his chest; _he certainly could._

What was he supposed to do then? Should he push her away and tell her to stop touching him, or should he just let her be?

Blinking furiously, Jace tightened his grip on the reins, and before his conscience could catch up with him, he steered Wayfarer at a steady gallop away from the stables.

* * *

The full moon shone like a luminous pearl against the star-freckled night sky, casting a silvery glow upon the crystal waters of Lake Lynn.

Jace sat leaning his back against the rough contours of the old willow tree, his palms resting upon the soft blades of green grass. A wistful smile crossed his lips as he remembered the days he had spent there at the lake training with Alec and having picnics with his family. It felt like only yesterday he was just an eleven-year-old who had no care or worry for the world; he'd give anything to have that again.

As his amber eyes landed on the redheaded princess, he felt his breath catch and his heart speed up. She was standing by the edge of the lake, her arms wrapped tightly around herself in an effort to preserve her body warmth as she drank in the tranquility of the night. She was beautiful, a far greater beauty than the night ever was; and yet, it was almost as if she were completely oblivious to just how spellbinding she really was.

Jace let his head fall backwards against the trunk of the tree, sighing heavily as an ambitious thought danced through his mind. How he wished he could enfold her in his arms in a tight embrace, to be able to escape the harsh and painful truth that was reality, just to live in his own haven of dreams with _her_.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking away his fantasies. That was all it will ever be—a fantasy, an illusion, a misguided hope. Yet, why was he still hanging on to them?

As Clary twirled away from the lake, her emerald green eyes instantaneously shifted to find the gladiator's shimmering aureate ones like a pulsing magnetic attraction. She smiled bashfully at him, feeling her heart race at the very sight of him.

Under the moon's silvery-white incandescence, his golden features appeared washed-down, yet he was still as stunning and alluring as ever. She bit her lip, wishing she could run her dainty fingers through his golden halo of lustrous curls; wishing for an alternate reality where he was a prince, and not a gladiator.

Clary sighed tiredly. In the last few days since she had first met him, she hadn't been able to pass a single minute without thinking about him—_her angel._ His mesmerizing golden eyes that swirled like honey and caramel seeing into the depths of her soul, his charming wit, albeit sardonic at times—_everything_ about him—filled every waking moment of her life; and even within the confines of her sleep, he continued to haunt her relentlessly. He was snarky and arrogant, and completely unpredictable at times, yet, Clary found herself hopelessly falling for him. And she didn't even know his name, she realized.

"Are you just going to stand there all night and marvel at my beauty or are you going to come over here and join me?" Jace said wryly, his signature smirk adorning his handsome features.

Clary's cheeks turned a shade of crimson and she silently wished her auburn tresses were down so she could conceal her flaming cheeks behind it like a curtain. Shrugging her shoulders at a poor attempt of nonchalance, Clary crossed the short distance between them and plopped herself down gracelessly next to her male companion.

Jace chuckled lightly at her and she subconsciously leaned closer to him, allowing their shoulders to brush against each other.

Clary stifled a smile as she heard his sharp intake of breath. Risking a peek at him, she raised her green eyes tentatively and gasped as she found his golden eyes already directed on her.

Jace smiled at her reaction. "Are you all right? You know, you've been standing there for close to an hour just staring out at the lake. What were you thinking about?" Jace asked in a smooth, velvety voice.

Clary blanched, and her green orbs dulled. "A lot of things," she said in a small voice. "I—My fa-father." Her voice shook, and she swallowed the lump in her throat painfully.

Jace unwittingly wrapped an arm around Clary, pulling her into him protectively and she buried her face in his shoulder, quivering slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm such a burden, aren't I?" she said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Jace tucked two fingers underneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "No, no you're not," he told her in a gentle voice. "You can tell me anything. I'm here for you. We are friends, aren't we?" he asked.

Clary pulled away from him, sniffling. "But I don't even know your name. I don't know anything about you." She drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them tightly as she rocked herself back and forth.

Jace's face contorted in discomfort. "How about this? You tell me what's bothering you and I'll...deliberate on what I _can_ tell you about myself?" he negotiated hesitantly.

Silence passed over the two before Clary gave an infinitesimal nod. She inhaled deeply and let her right cheek rest on top of her tucked knees, facing away from Jace.

"The other night, when my brother, Jon, came to find me to bring me to my father, we had a serious 'talk'," she said quietly. "Not that every other conversation I have with my father wasn't serious, but, this one—this one really stuck to me. He was talking about my future, the future that he had already planned out for me. He told me that I am to be wed by the end of this year. That he's already arranged for suitors for my hand in marriage, and that I'm supposed to spend time with them, and practice on how to be a good, subservient _wife_. He said they'll be _here_ by _tomorrow_," she finished, her voice faltering at the end.

Jace clenched his fist and his jaw locked as anger burned within him at the thought of Clary being married off to some other royal jerk. "Did you say anything to him? Anything at all to sway his decision?" he asked pointedly, not meaning sound so harsh; if anything, he was angry with Valentine, not Clary.

Clary's head snapped up and she glared at Jace, tears brimming in her eyes. "You didn't think I've tried? He wouldn't listen! He _never_ listens to me! He's always had this crazy notion that women are meant to serve men, to yield under their power. What makes you think that anything I say would make a difference to him?"

Jace was livid. Who did Valentine think he was to arrange Clary's life like that? He was an asshole, even to his own daughter—his own _blood_. How could he possibly even live with himself when he was practically stripping his daughter of her own freedom?

"It isn't right! Someone _should_ talk to him—" Jace argued.

"This isn't about right or wrong. Even if there was someone to speak up for me, do you think he'll listen? With my father, whatever he believes in is right, therefore, whatever he says, goes. No questions asked," Clary interjected.

"And besides that, who do you think could be powerful enough to make him see things differently? _You_? A gladiator who refuses to give his name, who calls himself _Shadowhunter_? Yeah, I don't think so," she snapped in an icy tone.

Jace glowered at Clary, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. "Well, that's just great, princess. Be a brat when you're upset. Take it out on me when all I'm trying to do is help you. Maybe that's the reason why your father won't listen to you anyway, because all you ever do is demand for things like a spoilt child. It's my business whether or not I want to tell you my name. Don't use that against me just because you can't find anything else to vent on," Jace seethed, his face turned into a cold and distant mask.

Swiping the tears away from her eyes angrily, Clary scrambled to her feet, jerkily untying Wayfarer from where he was bound to the tree. Jace swiftly followed, mounting the brown horse before Clary could get on it. Knowing her, she would have probably left him behind just to get away from him; and besides, Jace didn't want to jeopardize her safety due to her reckless haze.

Tugging the reins in his right hand securely, Jace reached out his other hand for Clary to take, only to have her swat it away scornfully in adamant refusal. Getting increasingly impatient with her tantrum, he grabbed her by her arm forcibly and swung her up onto the horse, ignoring her blatant protests.

Without waiting for her to adjust herself comfortably on the horse, Jace took Wayfarer off at a fast trot, leaving Clary shrieking and clawing at his shirt viciously at an attempt to keep her balance.

When they reached the stables only 15 minutes later, Clary wasted no time in getting off Wayfarer, purposely shoving the gladiator in the process. Without regarding him with so much as a proper farewell, she stormed off, leaving him to stare after her with a bemused expression.

_Yes, she was definitely one hell of a spitfire._

And Jace was _regretfully_ besotted with her.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thoughts on the Clace scene?:)

OK, so the good news is, from here on out, the plot (which mainly involves Clace) will progress a whole lot more than this;)

And hmm, there'll be a _new_ character in the next chapter...Guesses?

Please review!;)

XO!~N


	8. Chapter 7: The Price of Defiance

******Author's Note: (IMPORTANT—PLEASE READ)******

Hello, guys!:) As usual, thank you to all my readers, followers, reviewers, etc. Your support means so much to me:) Really, I can't express how happy I feel each time I read a new review or see a new follower; so thank you very much!;)

Ok, so before we start, I just want to clarify some things with regards to the story so far:

**First** of all, in case it's still not so clear to some readers, Jace's identity is anonymous to anyone but Michael and Alec (since these two share a history with Jace). To everyone else, Jace is just a gladiator called 'Shadowhunter'. Clary doesn't even know that Jace is called 'Jace'...yet.

**Secondly**, the big showdown between Jace and Valentine will only be towards the end of the story (at the final games, which is slightly less than three months away). Why? Well, because as much as Jace is hell-bent on killing Valentine to avenge his parents, he still doesn't have an actual game plan on how he would go about killing him. See the problem there? Jace can't just randomly murder Valentine or he'll doom himself. So technically, the whole Jace-Valentine fiasco is on a sort of hiatus for now because Jace is really just trying to lie low in order to keep his true identity a secret.

**Thirdly**, this is a bit of a spoiler, but I just want to say that you guys don't have to worry about Clary getting married so soon. It'll be mentioned in a few chapters later that the wedding date of her arranged marriage will only be after the games...so there's some time to chillax first.

And **last** of all, as far as Clace's feelings for each other go at this point, they're **not** exactly already in love with each other. I mean there's a sense of that _love at first sight _element, but then again, it's not really to the extent of (bam!) immediate love...when I used the term 'besotted' in the previous chapter, I meant it more as a **deep crush** rather than head-over-heels-in-love. Really, for Clace, the feelings they have for each other so far is kind of superficial, especially where Clary's feelings for Jace is concerned since she knows absolutely nothing about him. You could say that they are more 'drawn' to each other, but not just mainly because of looks, but also because of each other's intriguing personalities. Plus, developing actual strong feelings/attraction for the opp sex is a new thing that both Clary and Jace are experiencing, they're both just mainly curious at his point, and don't really know what to make of their feelings...does that make sense? Haha, that's from my own perspective as a writer anyway. How you see Clace's relationship/feelings for each other is all up to your own interpretation I guess. (OMG I'M SO FREAKING LONG-WINDED)

With that said, let's get back to the story! This is Chapter 7. A lot of things happen here, I would say. Things will mostly be in Clary's Third Person POV here cos I think we need to know a bit more about her and not just Jace all the way.

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters. I only own the storyline here...;)

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Price of Defiance**

Clary sat unmoving in front of her vanity, her emerald green eyes staring blankly into the mirror as her maid, Isabelle, fussed over her hair. It was a normal routine for her—wake up at seven a.m., shower and get dressed, then go through a rigorous chain of etiquette lessons, dance lessons, and whatever else her father saw fit. Truth be told, she had never seen much use for such _activities_, but she knew better than to voice her dissent to her father, lest he would only punish her in return.

Having no compulsion to act like a proper lady at the moment—predominantly due to her lack of 'a proper audience' (meaning her father)—Clary let out a loud yawn of exhaustion, not even bothering to cover her mouth as her eyelids began to slowly droop. In her defense, she had spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed; no matter how hard she had willed herself to go to sleep then, it had been futile. Her mind kept on hounding her about her father, her suitors and arranged marriage, and above all, _her_ golden gladiator.

Clary sighed. She didn't know why she was obsessing over _him_ though. It wasn't as if they could ever end up together; her father would never approve of it, not unless hell decided to freeze over and animals could suddenly talk. Besides, even if her father did approve of her 'relationship' with _her_ gladiator, who was _she_ to be so certain that he would even want to be with her? It was obvious that he didn't like her father, so why—_Why_ in God's name would he even want her?

In all honesty though, Clary didn't understand the gladiator at all. One moment he could be all sweet and charming to her, and then the next, he could be mean and frightening—although admittedly, she was always the one to instigate him first.

Clary rubbed the spot in between her eyebrows tiredly. She _had to_ get over him. _'__It will never work out,'_ she reminded herself. He was a gladiator, and as far as she was aware, gladiators didn't necessarily have long life spans. Life in the arena was a constant occupational hazard; he could as easily get killed in the arena or even in training. Even if he were lucky enough to survive the games—which would be held less than three months from now—he would still be bound to the arena as a slave. He was still young, barely at his peak; there was no way her father would ever free him from the arena anytime soon.

Clary shook her mind off of her gladiator, redirecting her focus onto an even more _pressing issue_ at hand. Ever since her father's 'big family announcement' a week ago, she had been dreading the coming of this day—the day she would be introduced to her suitors, and be forced to spend time with them. _For an entire week!_

_'God, please help me. Save me from this terror called 'life'. I'd rather get trampled over by a horse and end up in a coma. A long coma, preferably, where I can get lots and lots of sleep…' _She smiled rather sadistically to herself.

"Clary, are you all right?" Isabelle asked, her tone laced with worry and concern.

Clary smiled at her through her reflection in the mirror. "Yeah, Izzy, I'm fine. Just tired."

Then as if to prove her point, she yawned again, loudly this time.

"Rough night, eh?" Isabelle, or often referred to by her nickname Izzy, smirked at her impishly.

"Hmm, you have no idea," Clary slurred, pitching forward in her seat and burying her head into her arms on her vanity.

"Clary!" Izzy chided, clearly annoyed that Clary was ruining her 'work'.

Clary couldn't care less though. "_Please just let me sleep. Just for five minutes,"_ she begged, her voice coming out in a series of incomprehensible muffles.

Izzy huffed in annoyance. "Clary, I don't care that you're tired and want to sleep. Your father is expecting you in the dining room for breakfast in ten minutes and you know what will happen if you turn up late! Besides, you have suitors coming in to see you today. You wouldn't want to make a bad impression on them," she scolded her.

Clary groaned before lifting her head from her vanity reluctantly. It was pointless to argue with Izzy on _that_. She knew her maid wouldn't agree with her opinions on the whole matchmaking process anyway, so there was really no point in wasting her breath on the subject.

"Okay, let's just make this quick. I'm so ready for this week to be over," Clary grumbled.

* * *

Three days later, Clary found herself staring blankly into space—not that she was ever remotely attentive of the real world around her anyway, for Clary so often disappeared into her own mind. Though admittedly, she had been living in her own world more than the real one as of late.

She was lying down on the plush red divan on the first floor of the royal library, surrounded by the vast masses of books that were lined neatly on the rows and rows of colossal bookshelves made from expensive cherry-colored oak wood. From the seven-story high marble ceiling that was bedecked with mural paintings of angels dangled an intricate iron chandelier that illuminated the room with an inviting bright orange glow.

The library was easily one of the biggest rooms in the palace, and Clary's favorite place to be in. It was her hallowed sanctuary, untainted by her father's touch, and therefore, unlike most other rooms, it had a warm and homely atmosphere.

Ever since she was a child and had first moved into the palace in Idris, Clary had always enjoyed the solace she found in the library, tucked away amongst the thousands of tomes buried there just waiting to be discovered. To some people, like her brother, reading was a chore, a stifling burden that he would much rather avoid. But to Clary, reading was a sacred pastime, one she absolutely reveled in. And after days of feeling asphyxiated by her father and her suitors, Clary was eager to find escape into the world of fantasy her books offered her.

Yet, today, despite the comforting old, musky scent of the pages of the romance novel in her hands, Clary could not find peace. Each time she tried to concentrate on the words gracing the pages, she found them jumbling around instead of stringing themselves together to form coherent sentences. It was absolutely vexing.

She begged for God to help her clear her mind, to empty her thoughts of her worries, her fears, her insecurities, of her confounding gladiator, but it was hopeless. They kept infiltrating her mind, like parasites, and were beginning to eat her up and tear her apart from the inside.

As far as her suitors went, Clary couldn't ignore the blatant distaste she had for them. They were overly haughty and boastful, and neither could hold a conversation with her without infusing talks about politics and how their kingdoms were faring economically—topics that Clary clearly had no interest in listening to whatsoever.

That aside, she was absolutely peeved by the fact that all three suitors that had been presented to her were all much, _much_ older than she was. The last three days had been hell for Clary; she had spent each day with a different suitor, and half the time, apart from their boring, mundane exchange, she had to brave their predatory, lustful glances and pathetically 'romantic' efforts to woo her.

It had all come down to a boiling point last night when one of them, Lord Axel Mortmain as she remembered, had actually tried to cop a feel out of her while they were dancing. Outraged, Clary had finally lost it and kneed him in the groin. With her full-blown temper on display—much to her father's own rage that he had whipped her with a belt after—she had actually sent all of them packing and riding for the hills out of Idris.

She sighed in relief. She was safe. _For now._

"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern!" Her father's rich and commanding voice boomed.

'_Speak of the devil and he shall appear,'_ Clary internally groaned.

Bolting upright from her position on the divan, Clary's hands immediately flew to her curls, smoothing them down in an effort to make herself look presentable for her father—not because she actually bothered to, but because she would be on the receiving end of her father's wrath if she didn't.

"Good afternoon, Princess Clarissa." A deep, suave voice, not belonging to her father, greeted her.

Clary looked up promptly and saw a sharply dressed young man standing next to her father, a polite smile on his face. He was handsome, and was probably around her brother's age. He had black straight hair and charcoal-black eyes that looked calculative and emotionless, _like her father's_, Clary realized belatedly with a cold shiver.

"Clarissa, this is Sebastian Verlac, the newly crowned king of Alicante," her father said in his usual dry, impassive tone. "Do you remember him? The two of you used to play together as children, before we moved to Idris," he added, pressing her to say that she did remember him.

Clary scrunched her eyebrows lightly, trying to sift through her brain for the tiny recollection of the childhood she might have shared with Sebastian but came to none.

"Hmm, I apologize, Your Highness, but I'm afraid I do not remember," Clary said to the dark-haired king, her tone polite.

"It is nice, however, to finally meet you again," she said in a chirpier tone after her father shot her a threatening glare that went completely unnoticed by Sebastian.

Sebastian reached for her right hand, planting a soft kiss on the back of it. "Nice to meet you again, Clarissa. And please, call me Sebastian. I much rather prefer being addressed by my first name to formalities," Sebastian returned.

"As you wish, Sebastian," Clary replied good-naturedly.

"Well, Clarissa, Sebastian is here to spend the rest of the day with you. I expect you to shower him with grace and hospitality during his visit as a refined princess _should_," her father said, a warning implied in the last sentence. He looked at her straight in the eye, as if daring her to challenge his will.

"Yes, Father," she said dutifully, before Valentine turned away to leave the two of them alone in the library.

"Very well, Clarissa. Shall we?" Sebastian offered her his arm in a gentlemanly gesture, and Clary, though inwardly reluctant, took it graciously.

* * *

"The Arena Dumont? Why are we here?" Clary asked nervously as they walked through the tunnels of Dumont, heading for the gladiator barracks.

"Well, Alicante is a big supporter of the games, like Idris. I thought it would be nice to see how the gladiators here are faring. Besides, _when_ we get married, I expect you to be able to share my interests in the games," Sebastian returned coolly.

Clary felt her heart pound violently at Sebastian's statement. '_You mean '_if_', not '_when_','_ she thought angrily, resisting the urge to correct him. She had only been in his company for less than an hour and he was already presumptuous that she would end up as his wife. _'__He really is no better than the other three,'_ Clary sighed.

"Ah, here we are," he chirped, a malicious glint in his onyx eyes as they reached the entrance to the barracks.

"Good afternoon, Your Highnesses," the guards greeted them as they passed.

Clary nodded at them skittishly while Sebastian merely ignored them, immediately pulling her towards the field where the gladiators were busily training—some sparring in hand-to-hand combat while others practiced their skills with weapons such as spear-throwing.

Clary couldn't explain it, but somehow, her eyes were automatically drawn to her mysterious golden-haired gladiator—who was engaged in a hand-to-hand combat with a dark-haired boy with steely blue eyes.

She felt her heart race giddily at the sight. Under the sun's glare, he looked even more golden; the sweat that beaded his face and neck glistened like fresh dewdrops. Truly, he looked like a lion; his strong, muscular body alone paraded his prowess as a fighter, a _warrior._ His golden hair shone like a lion's mane, and his limbs moved with cat-like grace, like a hunter's.

As Clary watched him lock horns with his fellow gladiator, her head went giddy with excitement. He had the dark-haired boy trapped in a devastating headlock, and was slowly beginning to wear him down. The boy, who looked just as strong and muscular, was noticeably fighting back, his arms grappling in an attempt to get the golden gladiator to loosen his hold on him. At a last ditch-attempt, the boy managed to elbow his sparring partner's abdomen hard, and Clary watched as the latter broke his hold, yet he swiftly recovered his momentum just a second later and landed a dropkick on his partner.

* * *

As Jace's feet connected with Alec's face, Alec staggered backwards a few steps but otherwise managed to maintain his balance on his feet. Jace charged towards the latter, taking advantage of his minor disorientation, and speared him to the ground.

They both crash-landed—a tangled mass of limbs—with Jace's body on top of Alec's, and Jace immediately went for a full mount grapple. Sitting astride Alec's chest, he used his knees to pin the blue-eyed boy's arms to the ground, before manipulating his full body-weight into putting Alec in an arm lock.

Jace smirked as he noticed Alec distinctly weakening, his face turning a shade of red at the force of Jace's hold. It wasn't that he enjoyed watching Alec's displeasure; Jace was simply smirking because he knew he was winning. Again.

"Give up, Allie-boo?" Jace taunted his friend, his usual smug expression plastered on his face.

Alec glared at him weakly, his voice constricted in his throat due to the pressure of Jace's hold. Like _hell_ he was going to give up. He wasn't going to give Jace the satisfaction of another victory. He wasn't going to submit to Jace. Not for the fourth time today.

Feigning unconsciousness, Alec's blue eyes slipped shut and he allowed his limbs to relax, giving Jace the false signal that he had given up and was past the point of struggling. Jace's clutch on Alec's throat immediately slackened a little, and Alec could have sworn that even behind closed eyelids, Jace had an even bigger smirk on his face. '_He thought he's won again_,' Alec thought, grinning inwardly.

Just as Jace was easing the pressure of his hold on Alec, a flash of red caught his eye. Inadvertently relinquishing his entire grip on his friend and turning his head to the source, he was shocked, to say the least, when he saw Clary standing there at the field, only a couple strides away from him, _staring at him_.

And what astonished him even more was that she wasn't alone. Another man was there, his arm wrapped possessively around Clary's slender waist. And he was looking at him too—or rather, he was _observing_ Jace with a wolfish and calculative grin.

His body detached from his mind, Jace stood up, his fighting stance abandoned as he stared back at Clary, a thousand questions surging through his mind. What was she doing here? Who was that man with her? Why was he holding her like that...like she was his toy?

Exploiting Jace's momentarily distracted state, Alec jumped up onto his feet, his hard fingers seizing the former's throat in a mighty chokehold. Not giving him the time to react, Alec lifted Jace off the ground and slammed him forcefully onto his back before pinning him—mimicking their earlier position but with their roles reversed.

Alec smirked down at Jace. "Give up, Jacey-poo?" he taunted him.

Jace looked up at Alec dazedly, as though he was in a drunken stupor. Thanks to his _distraction_, he had been caught so completely off-guard by Alec that he didn't even have time to prepare himself for the brute impact of that choke slam. _'__Bad mistake,' _Jace thought as he began to feel the repercussions of it.

Alec's smirk fell and his face suddenly turned serious. "Jace, you okay?" His voice was tinged with worry and he immediately removed himself from Jace, kneeling beside his friend.

"I think…you might have—ugh, given me a c-con—concussion," he groaned, coughing a little as he rolled over onto his side and rubbed the back of his head.

"I'm sorry," Alec apologized, a rueful frown on his face.

Gently, he helped Jace to sit up as his friend continued groaning fitfully.

"Oh, stop being a baby, Jace," he hissed, rolling his eyes.

Without thinking, Clary dashed forward, falling to her knees beside her injured gladiator. She didn't even register the shocked look on blue-eyed boy's face at her sudden appearance, immediately reaching to cup her gladiator's face in her small hands.

"Shadowhunter! Hey, are you all right? How bad are your injuries? Are you going to pass out?" Clary spluttered anxiously.

Jace's foggy eyes darted around before they finally locked with Clary's wide green eyes. He grinned at her goofily. "Hello there again, angel. Haven't seen you in a few days. I've missed you. Did you miss me?" he asked, his voice airy.

It was completely obvious that he had lost his bearings due to his concussion and probably had no control over his own speech, yet Clary couldn't help but blush, especially at his endearment—'_angel'._

"He has a concussion. I better take him to the infirmary, get him checked out," Alec said stiffly, his blue eyes scrutinizing Clary with cold disdain.

"Let me help you, then," Clary said, hastily scrambling to her feet. Alec opened his mouth to argue with Clary but seemed to think better of it; it would be stupid to defy a member of royalty, no matter how small their physical stature was.

Carefully placing the golden-haired gladiator's muscular arm over her shoulders, while the blue-eyed boy grabbed him by his other unoccupied arm, Clary was about to walk off with the two gladiators when her arm was suddenly yanked back harshly.

"Clarissa, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Sebastian growled, his fingers moving to grasp her wrist with bruising force.

Clary winced, whimpering at the roughness of his contact. "Let go of me, Sebastian! He's injured; I'm trying to help him get to the infirmary," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

Sebastian's grip tightened, and Clary could have sworn that purple marks were already beginning to form on her wrist. Struggling against him, she pounded her other tiny fist against his chest, hoping that it would sober him up enough to release her from his hold. "Let go of me, Sebastian! LET GO!"

Sebastian's cold obsidian eyes dilated, and for a split second, it looked almost as if his black irises had taken up the entire space in his eyes, the whites completely obscured from sight. Clary gasped, and before she could process what was happening, Sebastian's large hand landed on her cheek, the sound of the slap echoed around the field like the ricochet of a bullet.

Jace's senses suddenly rushed back to him and his golden eyes fell on Clary, who was clutching her injured cheek, tears streaming from her eyes. His eyes specifically drifted over to the large red imprint on her cheek, and all of a sudden, his vision turned red. He whipped his head round sharply and glared at the asshole who had so boldly assaulted _his _princess and left his mark on her.

A satisfied and arrogant smirk stretched across the fiend's face, and that was all it took for Jace before all hell broke loose.

With a feral growl, the gladiator tackled Sebastian to the ground, raining angry punches on him while the latter held up his arms to protect his face from the abuse.

"FIGHT BACK! Fight back, you coward!" Jace yelled, his brutal fists unrelenting. In the distance he could hear Clary calling for him to stop but he wouldn't listen. Rage thrummed through his body, fueling the adrenaline he needed to continue his onslaught. All he could think was, _'__How dare that filthy bastard touch her! How dare he lay his hands on an innocent woman and expect no reprisal for such an immoral act!'_

After what felt like only mere seconds later to Jace, strong hands came forward to wrest him away from Sebastian. Undaunted, the gladiator fought back, his livid form thrashing around violently as he continued screaming at Sebastian, calling him a list of ineffable names.

Sebastian quickly rose to his feet and assumed his supercilious stance, his fathomless black eyes glaring daggers at Jace. He swiped at the blood on his chin—that Jace managed to inflict from his first punch—and marched up to the latter purposefully. Drawing his right arm back, he threw his fist onto Jace's left cheek, causing his face to snap in the other direction.

His earlier injuries finally catching up with him, Jace's knees buckled and suddenly, he had to rely on the guards to hold him up.

"Tie him up over there!" Sebastian commanded, pointing to the wooden post by the corner of the field, near the prison cells.

* * *

Clary stood frozen in her spot, mouth agape, as the guards dragged her golden gladiator away from her and towards the wooden post, binding his hands together tightly with a pair of metal handcuffs.

With his weight propped up against the post, Jace slumped forward on his knees, his entire body stiff and tense as the guards began to rip the shirt away from his body—until they lay in tattered shreds by his feet. His heart pulsated violently; he knew what was coming, and he was readying himself for it.

"Give him 20 lashes of the whip!" Sebastian roared at the brown-eyed guard, his black eyes cold and forbidding, absent of human warmth.

"NO!" Clary screamed, running towards Sebastian. She fell on her knees next to his feet, hugging his legs as she looked up at him with begging eyes. "Please, don't! He doesn't deserve this!"

Sebastian pretended to look thoughtful for a while, his arms crossed and his index finger lightly tapping his chin. "Hmm, you're absolutely right." He paused, looking down at her condescendingly. "40 lashes of the whip ought to _suffice_!" he yelled cruelly at the guard while Clary broke down into tears, her desperate pleas unceasing. She tugged at Sebastian's leg doggedly, hoping that it would swerve his judgment.

With a vexed sigh, Sebastian bent down, pulling Clary's head back by her hair and whispered into her ear, "You would do well to remember not to defy me. Consider this part of your training to be _my wife_. I do not take defiance lightly, and this is just a _gentle_ reminder for you in the future, should you choose to act against my wishes."

He pulled back, casting her another pitiless look, before shoving her off him. Ignoring her cries of pain as she slammed against the hard ground, he yelled again at the guard, "What the hell are you waiting for? You dare to defy me and you will get the same punishment as this _piece of scum_ here!"

Knowing that it would be best to obey the ruthless king of Alicante, the guard stepped forward, a thick leather bullwhip raised in his hand, poised to inflict the pain and damage on the rebellious gladiator.

Jace inhaled sharply through his nose—slumping even further against the post—just as the whip descended on his back with a thundering crack. He bit his lip, feeling the blinding, stinging pain of his flesh being ripped open by the vicious object. He knew that a bloody gash had already begun to make its appearance on his back. He could _feel_ it; like fire scorching his back, igniting a searing pain—and it was only the beginning.

Another lash from the whip and Jace's body squirmed furiously with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and bit down harder on his bottom lip. He would not give the bastard the satisfaction by crying out in pain, no matter how agonizing it felt. He was a man, no longer the eleven-year-old boy who watched helplessly as his mother was tortured and killed. He was a man, and wasn't going to make a sound.

The bitter crack of the whip went on and on, never abating, like an unremitting thunderstorm. Jace had long since lost count of the number of whiplashes he had gotten so far and was slipping in and out of consciousness; the energy from his body had long faded and he was a mere deadweight propped up against the wooden post. Another savage lash went through him and Jace's vision faded to black.

"Please stop," Clary sniveled in between sobs. She was curled up in a fetal position, her pale, alabaster face stained by a river of tears; and she was rocking herself back and forth on the ground like a woman who had lost her grip on sanity.

"STOP!" A fierce, deep voice ordered, and instantly, the guard dropped his hold on the whip, backing away from the bloodied and battered form of the golden gladiator.

Jonathan emerged, his face molded into a look of rage and contempt. It wasn't a look Jonathan often wore on his face. Somehow it looked strange, alien almost, on him. He looked like a completely different person, no longer the perky, loving older brother Clary had come to associate him with. He looked intimidating—_exactly like their father_—and for once in her life, Clary felt frightened of him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jonathan demanded, his glare shifting between the guard and Sebastian.

"King Sebastian ordered me to—"

"I don't bloody care what Sebastian ordered you to do. He holds no power here; I am the prince of Idris, the heir to the throne, therefore, you listen to _me_," the white-haired prince growled at the guard as he shrunk back from him. "Now, release this man and bring him back to his cell," he finished, his voice crisp and steely, his glare unwavering.

Jonathan watched, his blazing green eyes never missing a step as the guard cautiously removed the handcuffs from the golden gladiator's hands; he signaled to another guard to help carry the unconscious gladiator back to his cell, silently warning them to be careful with him.

As soon as they had left his sight, Jonathan's focus shifted to Clary. She remained huddled in a corner, her tiny body shaking with silent sobs as she looked back at her brother in fear.

His green eyes softened. He hadn't meant to scare his sister like that.

Running a calloused hand through his white-blonde hair, he turned to his trusted servant. "Thomas, get Clarissa back to her chambers immediately. Make sure Isabelle is there and tends to my sister; and if necessary, get the doctor Magnus Bane to check on her. She looks to be in a shock," Jonathan sighed, looking worriedly at his sister.

Aware of the princess's state of distress, Thomas bent down and gently lifted her up in his arms. With one arm supporting her head and the other tucked under the back of her knees, he made sure not to jostle her around too much for fear of upsetting her further.

Jonathan walked up to Thomas and Clary; his hand immediately went to Clary's now-unruly curls, smoothening it down in an attempt of comforting her. He planted a soft, brotherly kiss on her forehead, whispering words of assurances and apologies to her. "I'll see you tonight, baby girl. I promise."

* * *

Once Clary had left Jonathan's line of sight, he whipped around dangerously to face Sebastian. As his green eyes met Sebastian's black ones, Jonathan felt the rage in his chest rekindle.

"You! What the hell did _you_ think you were doing?" Jonathan spat icily.

"Well, hello to you too, Prince Jonathan," Sebastian returned sarcastically, his emotionless onyx eyes showing not even the slightest hint of regret. "And to answer your question, had I not thought that it was obvious, I was merely teaching the boy a lesson, giving him the punishment he so rightfully deserves for defying my authority."

"And what, _pray tell_, did the man do to merit such a cruel punishment? To have him be whipped senseless and tortured half to death?" Jonathan demanded, raising his voice.

"_Man_? You call him a _man_?" Sebastian snorted as though Jonathan had just told him a joke. "Why, Prince Jonathan, I am sorely disappointed in you. That _man_, as you so generously call him, is nothing more than a common scum! A disgusting vermin who thought he could lay his hands on me and get away with it scot-free! I only did what I did to restore the balance of_ justice_."

A lazy, conceited smirk stretched across Sebastian's face. "By the way, you might want to be _grateful_ that it had been me bestowing the penalty on that low-life and _not_ your father. Now surely, had it been King Valentine, that criminal would have been hung, drawn and quartered, his remains probably scattered all over the arena or hung on display for all to see as a prime example for his act of defiance and for assaulting a member of royalty."

Jonathan fumed at his words. Like Clary, Jonathan had never been one to stand by and watch as people, slaves included, were abused for no damn good reason. It unnerved him greatly. To Jonathan, slaves were people with their own rights as well—who deserved to be treated like humans, not like dogs as his father and Sebastian made them out to be.

"Well, I don't believe that that man would have attacked you had you not provoked him. So tell me—what did you do to set him off then?" Jonathan countered, his voice hard.

"_If I may, Prince Jonathan._" Another voice piped in.

Jonathan turned to the owner of the voice—a man who was in his early forties with dark hair and brown eyes.

"And who are you, may I ask?" Jonathan inquired, maintaining the authority in his tone.

"My name is Michael. And that gladiator who was punished by King Sebastian belongs to me," Michael spoke in a controlled voice.

"Very well. Speak your tale, good sir." Jonathan nodded respectfully at the man.

"My gladiator, _Shadowhunter_, as you all would know him—I've raised him since he was a little boy. He's reckless, yes, I'll admit to that. But he's smart as well. He would never attack or physically respond to taunts from a figure of authority without a valid reason. And believe me, Your Highness, he had a very good reason for doing what he did."

Michael paused, and Jonathan nodded at him again, urging him to continue. "King Sebastian assaulted Princess Clarissa because he was unhappy that she was 'socializing' with my gladiator. My gladiator merely stepped in to defend her honor and to prevent him from hurting her even further."

Jonathan's ears buzzed with rage. His jaw set, and against his better lack of self-restraint, he lunged towards Sebastian; his hands yanked his shirt viciously to the point of almost tearing it. He slammed Sebastian against the wall with brute force; his face hovered so closely to Sebastian's as he stared him down that their noses were brushing against each other.

"_YOU LAID YOUR HANDS ON MY SISTER?" _Jonathan screamed. With an irate grunt, he released his grip on Sebastian's shirt, shoving him away roughly before he could lose his temper completely and maim Sebastian on the spot.

"Get out. You've worn out your welcome here. I don't want to see your filthy face around here ever again, and in case that's not clear enough for you, that also means I don't want you anywhere near my sister, or else—"

"Or else, what, Jonathan?" Sebastian interrupted coldly, his earlier smirk exchanged for a dangerous and malevolent look. Jonathan's breath hitched and against his will, he stumbled backwards away from Sebastian.

"You'll do well to remember your place, _Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern_. I am the king of Alicante while _you _are nothing more than a prince, therefore, I'd watch my tongue if I were you. Lay your hands on me and I will personally send my army after you and your sister," he threatened vehemently.

"_Don't you dare_—"

"Like I said—_Remember your place,_" Sebastian cut in sharply. "Had it not been for my late father and the troops from Alicante, your father wouldn't have been able to claim sovereignty over Idris and _you_ would have been nothing more than a commoner, exiled from your own homeland. Is that what you want?" he asked, jabbing a finger at Jonathan's chest.

"I don't give a damn about royalty. I don't care if you throw me out on the streets. You just stay the hell away from my sister," Jonathan bit back, his green eyes reclaiming its fervor.

"You can bark at me all the idle threats you want, Jonathan, but it won't work. Clarissa _will be mine_."

Jonathan made a low growling sound in his throat, but Sebastian remained unfazed as his lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Has your father not told you yet?" He let out a cold, mirthless laugh while Jonathan's expression turned into a look of utter confusion.

Sebastian looked at remaining guards and Michael—who stood there awkwardly, all of them watching their barbed exchange. With a pointed wave of his hand, he sent them away, leaving him and Jonathan alone, before he turned to the prince.

"Honestly, foolish little Jonathan. Did you really think that my family would have helped your father all those years ago out of the kindness of our own hearts? That we'd agree to risk our own troops against Stephen's forces without payment in return from your father?"

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"It has been arranged a long time ago, since Clarissa and I were little children, that we were to be wed when we grew older." Sebastian paused, as if gauging Jonathan's reaction. Jonathan looked stumped, his mouth opened and closed a few times as he struggled for words.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "She was the bargaining chip, the price your father paid in exchange for our help. Funny, isn't it? How your father was so willing to sell his own daughter, just for the sake of getting revenge on his adopted brother? He didn't even need to think, my father said. To him, Clarissa was, or rather, _is,_ just a small price, nothing much for him to lose."

"I don't believe you! My father _wouldn't_ stoop to such low levels. If he had agreed to the terms that you and Clarissa were to be married, then why would he even bother to arrange for other suitors for her?" Jonathan protested incredulously.

Sebastian sighed at Jonathan as though he was a lost cause. "Those three suitors your sister met with before me—they were just part of a ruse, a design in your father's plan, to make it seem to Clarissa as though she actually has a choice in whom she marries. Your naïve little sister. Despite what she thinks she's entitled to, she has no say in the matter. She belongs to _me_. She _always has_, and she _always will_. She couldn't possibly find anyone better than me, anyway, so it's pointless, really."

"You bastard."

"Name-calling won't change anything, Jonathan. There's a much bigger picture to this _plan_ than you think. You see, it's not about a simple matter of marriage; your father doesn't believe that you have the _finesse_ it would take to run a kingdom—so he's agreed to let _me_ take over Idris once he is no longer able to. Once Clarissa and I are married, Idris and Alicante will officially merge as one nation, one kingdom, under my rule and protection. Your father wouldn't dare break our treaty; he's in a far much compromising situation now with how Idris has been faring as of late."

Jonathan perked up at that. "What do you mean by that? Idris—"

"Honestly, Jonathan. And to think that you _were_ supposed to be the next in line for the throne…you're completely clueless, aren't you?" he asked, clicking his tongue impatiently.

"You don't even know all the crimes and fraudulence your father has committed all these years. All the taxes he's been collecting from the people? He's been using them to invest in his beloved games. Your people have been swiped of their own money right before their very eyes—They're starving, Jonathan, which is why Idris is in desperate need of a merger with Alicante, to strengthen its destabilizing economy and everything else that your father has been failing to maintain."

Jonathan was speechless by the end of Sebastian's revelation. He knew that his father was brutal and callous most of the time, but he had never expected him to be so obsessed with his gladiator games to resort to deceiving his own people like that. And the fact that Sebastian knew all that information when he didn't—it just made him feel completely lost. How long had his father been conspiring with the royal family of Alicante?

"I see you're deep in your thoughts. Having a hard time to process all of this?" Sebastian remarked mockingly before letting out a dramatic sigh. "My, my, Jonathan. All this talk with you is incredibly exhausting. You really are as stupid as you look. But don't worry, Jonathan. You won't exactly lose your sister when she marries me."

Sebastian walked up to Jonathan casually, whispering maliciously in his ear, "I'll make sure to hire you as her personal servant; that way, you can wait on her hand and foot all you want. It's a fair deal, don't you think?"

Jonathan remained frozen. In the corner of his eye, he saw a messenger boy heading towards them. He was dressed in a dark blue uniform, a matching-colored beret seated on top of his dirty-blonde hair.

"Lord Sebastian?" the boy asked timidly, his eyes directed to the ground. Sebastian was one of those harsh rulers, like Valentine, who despised it when commoners looked them in the eye when addressing them.

"Yes? What do you want?" Sebastian snapped in a bored tone.

"I have a message for you, Your Highness. It is from your fellow politicians in Alicante," he stammered as he handed Sebastian a roll of parchment from his satchel.

Sebastian snatched the scroll away from the boy's hands tersely, his black eyes skimming over the neat penmanship before he looked up at Jonathan. "It seems that I have matters to attend to in Alicante," he said evenly.

"Do send Clarissa my _love_, won't you? Tell her I'm deeply regretful and sorry that I have to be called back on such short notice, and tell her that I promise to visit again soon—so that I can court her again _properly_ before our wedding," Sebastian finished with a smug smirk.

Before Jonathan could get a word in, Sebastian turned away and walked off, his head high and his chin up, as though he owned the world and people worshipped the ground he walked on.

Jonathan slumped down against the hard, concrete ground, his back resting against the pillar, his body suddenly numb and exhausted. His mind had never felt more frazzled than it was right now. _How could it not be?_ He felt as though his whole life had been a _lie_.

His father...his father was a sham; he had been planning his and Clary's _fates_ behind their backs this whole time, manipulating them like pawns in his own little game of chess. Despite the brutal trainings and the punishments, _he_ had never even intended to let Jonathan inherit his throne. And it hurt him more than anything to know that _he_ would rather put his trust in someone else than his own son; that he'd rather trust…Sebastian.

What was he supposed to do now? And worse, how was he supposed to tell Clary about all this?

* * *

**A/N:**

Poor Jace ;( But whatever happened to him here will definitely bring him and Clary closer...

Clary's oblivious that she's supposed to marry Sebastian btw, so please bear that in mind in the following chapters.

And ooh, we see another side to Jonathan...hmm, I love Jon. His character is really fun to write.

Please review on your thoughts about this chapter. I'm going crazy out of my mind with school so I apologize in advance if my updating schedule later along the way becomes haywire...(like I _might_ take a month to update or so)...just be patient with me.

Oh, and here's a snippet for the next chapter:

Jace averted his eyes and his gaze focused on the sparkly, Asian-looking man who was kneeling beside him. He squinted his eyes, wondering again if he was hallucinating. "Fairy godmother?" Jace asked, his voice small like a child's.

XO!~N


	9. Chapter 8: Finding Solace in Pain

**Author's Note:**

Hello, guys! Here's Chapter 8! It takes place a couple hours after the whiplashing incident in the previous chapter. I don't have much to say here, just thank you to all the readers and followers, and to all you lovely people who have reviewed so far!;)

**Disclaimer:** Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 8: Finding Solace In Pain**

Cold was all that Clary felt. Despite the warmth provided by her thick comforter, she was still trembling violently. Her cries had long subsided into silent hiccups, yet she couldn't find it in her to break out of her catatonic state.

Images of her golden gladiator, bloodied and battered, flashed through her mind. Why did he have to stand up for her? Why did he have to put himself at risk for her sake? He didn't owe her anything. She hadn't exactly been remotely kind to him either—for the past few times that they've met, she'd always somehow managed to bait him; and yet, he had so willingly defended her honor. She didn't deserve him. He was a good man, better than anyone she had ever met, and he was probably dying now because of her.

Isabelle paced around her room worriedly, her mind at a complete loss at what to do to comfort the princess. She had drawn a hot bath for Clary upon her return and had filled it with scented oils of lavender and vanilla in hopes that it would help soothe her, but it was hopeless. The chamomile tea that she had prepared for her sat on her bedside table, untouched and undoubtedly now cold.

The door to Clary's room swung open with a gentle creak, and Jonathan padded in, looking terribly disheveled. His usually playful face was etched with heavy concern and distress, and he looked like he had just come through a hurricane. He rushed to Clary's side, seating himself next to her on her bed.

"Hey, baby girl, how are you?" Jonathan asked in a mellow, honeyed voice as he stroked the untamed scarlet tendrils away from his sister's face.

He reclined on the bed on his side, facing Clary, but she didn't respond to him at all; her dulled emerald green eyes stared back at him blankly, as though she was seeing him but not seeing him at the same time. Jonathan furrowed his eyebrows, and his green eyes flitted over to Isabelle who was standing near the marble fireplace in the room.

"Has she spoken at all?" Jonathan asked her anxiously.

"No. I've tried to coax her into telling me what happened but she wouldn't even give me the slightest bit of response. She's been trembling non-stop since she came in. I gave her a hot bath, I tried giving her tea, but she still wouldn't cave," Isabelle replied in an equally worried tone.

"Have you summoned Magnus?"

"Yes, he should be here soon," Isabelle replied, subconsciously chewing on her fingernail.

Jonathan's attention turned back to his sister. "It's all right, baby girl. He's gone. He's gone back to Alicante. He won't be bothering you anytime soon. Everything's all right," Jonathan cooed, his knuckles brushing the tender bruise on Clary's cheek.

Clary let out a tiny whimper and Jonathan gathered her in his arms, letting her bury her face in his chest as he rubbed her back therapeutically, making soft hushing noises. At the back of his mind, his conversation with Sebastian was playing like a broken record, but Jonathan knew now wasn't the time to tell Clary about any of it. He hated keeping his sister in the dark, but it was for her own good. She didn't need any more bullshit on her plate.

The door opened again and this time, the tall frame belonging to Magnus Bane emerged. He was the royal family's physician, and had served the Morgensterns for as long as Jonathan could remember. Known for his erratic sense of fashion, Magnus was clad in a dark purple velvet suit emblazoned with sparkles, and his black hair was spiked up fashionably and coated in a layer of glitter. His yellowish-green, cat-like eyes roamed around the room fleetingly before they landed on Clary, and he strode calmly into the room towards her.

Jonathan promptly sat up and got off the bed, allowing Magnus to take up his previous position next Clary. Magnus seated himself next to her slowly, before studiously checking her vitals.

"From the looks of it, she's experiencing the effects of trauma," Magnus said in a careful tone. "What happened to her?" he turned to Jonathan, looking at him inquisitively.

Jonathan hesitated, biting on the inside of his cheek. "She had a suitor come by today—King Sebastian of Alicante. He took her to the gladiator barracks at Dumont in an attempt of courting her. Then, apparently, from what I've heard, he got angry at Clarissa and assaulted her." From the corner of the room, Jonathan heard Isabelle gasp but he remained composed and continued.

"After that, one of the gladiators attacked Sebastian to try to protect her, and he ended up getting whiplashed in front of her," he explained, his eyes trained on Clary the whole time to see if it would elicit any response from her. She'd barely moved at all.

Magnus sighed. "Well, there's nothing much I can do in this case. Just give her time—Spend more time with her, but don't pressurize her into talking until she's ready to. For now, I'll give her some healing herbs to help soothe her and put her to sleep. It'll be best if you stay with her tonight; she might get nightmares from the incident so it wouldn't do her any good being by herself," Magnus instructed as he dug into his polished leather briefcase.

Jonathan nodded attentively, and all of a sudden, Clary's soft voice filled the room. "_Please_," she rasped, turning everyone's attention in the room towards her.

"_Magnus, please…please help me. Please,_" she begged, her tiny body shaking frenetically.

"Shh, I am, Clary, I am. I'll try my best to help you. Please just calm down," Magnus said gently as he prepared the herbal remedy for her. "Here, I'm going to give you this to sedate you. Hopefully, you'll feel better and well-rested when you wake up tomorrow."

He tilted a tiny, glass vial filled with the herbal concoction towards Clary's lips, but her dainty hands came up suddenly and she shakily pushed it away. "_No_," she whispered.

"Clary—"

"_No, Magnus_—_Please_—_Please just_—_Help _him_. I'll do anything. I_—_please, Magnus. Please, just help him. Please_," she muttered frantically, her green eyes darting around wildly.

"Shh, shh. All right, Clary, I'll help him. I'll go. But only if you promise to listen to me and take this." He pushed the vial towards her again but she refused it.

"No, Magnus," she said, her voice stubborn and firmer this time. "I want to go with you. I need to see _him_. I need to make sure he's—_he's okay_." Her voice cracked at the end.

"Clary—" Jonathan started.

"All right, Clary. We'll go," Magnus interrupted, much to Jonathan's aversion. He opened his mouth to protest but Magnus cut in again, "Isabelle, go help her get dressed. I'll be waiting outside."

Magnus stood up and left the room, with Jonathan tailing him. As soon as the door fell shut, Jonathan whirled on Magnus.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Magnus? You're a doctor! Can't you see that she's in no condition to be moving around? No, you just had to entertain her stupid, little whims! I'm not protesting against you going to help that man; in fact, I'd be grateful for it. But Clary doesn't need to go! What if she goes into another shock? What if she gets worse?" Jonathan ranted in an aggravated voice.

"Listen, Jonathan. I know you're worried about Clary, but she's determined to go see him and make sure he's okay. You saw for yourself how much she was falling apart not knowing how he is. She probably blames herself for what happened to him. Would you rather have her here against her will when you know her mind is still so fragile?" Magnus argued rationally.

"This is so _stupid_," Jonathan chafed, but his face was resigned. If his sister was going, then he was, too. He was far from happy with Magnus's decision, but who was he to argue with the doctor anyway? At least he knew that Magnus wouldn't let Clary do something unless he was sure it would be for her own good, so Jonathan might as well go along with it.

The door opened a crack, and Clary slipped outside. She was dressed in her riding gear—a simple blouse tucked into a pair of black leather pants and matching leather boots—and her hair was brushed into a simple ponytail. She looked slightly better as well; her face was no longer stained with tear tracks and her green eyes shone with a renewed vigor.

"Let's go," Clary said steadily, and that was all it took for Jonathan to relent with his sister's wishes.

* * *

Jace lay sprawled out on his front, his face pressed against the filthy, grimy concrete floor of his prison cell. He had been in the same position for the last few hours, ever since those guards had dumped him there. Michael had come in to check on Jace several times, but he was about as useful as a blunt sword that Jace had told him to leave him be.

Unfortunately, or by some _strange coincidence_, Jace had been informed that the infirmary had suddenly ran out of medical supplies to treat wounds that were specifically caused by whiplashing—so there he lied, untreated, and as still as a carcass in a pool of his own crusted blood, save for the shivers that racked his abused body.

No words could describe the pain that Jace was feeling.

He had never been whipped before, much less being whipped to the point where he couldn't even move an inch of his muscles, where it physically hurt to even breathe.

Rivulets of sweat saturated his skin like a blanket, yet ironically, he felt cold—unbelievably cold. His back was still as raw and bloody as ever, filling the dank and humid room with the putrid stench of iron and rotting flesh that Jace had to bite down the bile from rising in his own throat.

As he continued to whimper softly from the pain, a pair of light footsteps pervaded the air. Jace faintly registered the sound of the entrance to his cell being swung open, followed by a familiar gasp.

* * *

Clary's hand flew to her mouth as she took in the sight of her golden gladiator's mangled form. What she once imagined to be his flawless, angelic-looking back was now a heap of raw, bloody flesh.

Without sparing another moment, Clary dashed forward, landing on her knees beside her wounded gladiator. "_Oh my God_," she choked, her hand hesitating just a centimeter away from his back.

_It _was absolutely grotesque. Clary had had her fair share of being whipped by her father before, but the injuries that she had sustained were nowhere near as severe as his.

Multiple deep streaks of crimson marred his back; the reddish-brown scars stood garish and angry against his skin. His lacerations had stopped bleeding—_thankfully_—but now left his back caked with dried, congealed blood.

"Hey," Clary cooed at him, gently lifting his head off the floor and onto her lap. She stroked his golden hair, now matted down with grime and sweat, and heard him let out a soft moan.

Jace was convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him; he was probably still delirious from his concussion earlier and was hallucinating that Clary was there in his cell. After all, how could she possibly be here?

Slowly, he angled his head so that he could see his angel's face. She was staring down at him, her rosy lips pulled up into a sad smile; her emerald green eyes were shining with unshed tears, and her face had a visible pallor to it. Her soft hands ran through his hair, massaging it lightly—her tiny ministrations were so soothing Jace couldn't restrain himself from letting out a pleasurable moan.

"_Clary_," he moaned softly, causing her cheeks to rise with heat.

Her heart skipped a beat upon hearing her name roll off his tongue. She realized it was the first time he had called her by her name—not 'Milady', not 'Your Highness', not 'Princess'—just 'Clary'. And she decided, that she liked hearing him call her by her name.

"_Oh, God. If I'm dreaming, please don't let this end_," he muttered, his voice tight with pain.

"You're not dreaming. I'm here," Clary said softly, still showering his hair with gentle caresses.

"_Clary, please don't go. I don't want you to go_," he whimpered, nuzzling his face into her lap. He couldn't help the feeling of vulnerability that overtook him. He was in too much pain, and it was far too draining to try to hold up his defenses at this point. He was only human; he wasn't indestructible.

Clary stifled a gasp at the pleading tone in his voice. She had never seen him look or act so vulnerable before that she felt her heart give out to him. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here. I'm going to look after you," she said, her tender voice strong and as comforting as a mother's.

The sound of a man clearing his throat broke Clary's attention away from her wounded gladiator.

She glanced up at the cell's entrance, and saw Magnus standing there, watching the two of them with a small grin. He walked into the room, kneeling beside the gladiator, who had his face buried in Clary's lap.

"Where's Jonathan?" Clary asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

"Oh, don't worry about him. He's busy giving the guards a piece of his mind about what happened earlier today. And, he's making sure that there'll be no more repeats of this incident in the future," Magnus said with a smirk.

"Oh, thank God for him," Clary sighed in relief.

Magnus reached into his leather briefcase, retrieving a couple of bandages, a canister of salve, and a bottle of red wine. He looked over at Clary, who had a curious look on her face.

"What's the wine for?" she asked, her right hand still absentmindedly stroking the gladiator's hair and the other one running up and down the nape of his neck.

"It's used to disinfect most wounds," Magnus replied. He eyed the gladiator apprehensively before turning to Clary again.

"Clary, I'm going to pour the wine onto his back, and it's going to sting a lot. You might need to hold him down for me. Can you do that?" he asked.

A look of grim worry crossed Clary's features and she looked down at her gladiator, his body relaxed into her embrace. "Hey," she whispered against his ear tenderly. He stirred, whimpering softly again before looking up at her, his golden eyes squinting tiredly.

"We're going to have to pour wine onto your back to help disinfect your wounds, and it's going to hurt a lot," she repeated Magnus's words to him gently.

Jace nodded, almost imperceptibly, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly to brace for the pain. He felt Clary's hands leaving his hair and reaching for his own large, calloused ones, gripping them reassuringly. "You can squeeze my hands if you want to." Her breath caressed his neck like a gentle morning breeze, and he did so gently in response.

Clary nodded at Magnus, giving him the 'go-ahead' signal, and uttered a silent prayer that her gladiator would be spared of the pain soon enough. She inhaled a deep breath, just as Magnus removed the cork from the bottle and tentatively poured its contents onto the gladiator's back.

* * *

As soon as the alcohol made contact with Jace's skin, he felt as a sharp, burning sensation shoot through his body; he bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood in an attempt to suppress a yell.

Against his will, a muffled cry made its way out of his throat and he buried his face even deeper into Clary's lap. He squeezed Clary's hands tightly, his tense body rocking violently with pain. The agony he felt was so surreal, it was almost as if he had been thrown into an open flame, into the cavernous fires of hell; and he silently begged for it to stop.

Clary repressed the sob from rising in her throat as she heard the muffled cries of pain emitted by her gladiator. She would not break down—_not again, not here_. His grip on her hands was so tight and painful, but she dared not pull away. She would be strong for him. She would be strong for him, just as he had been for her. So she bent down, her lips against his ear, and began to serenade him with soft lullabies.

The tight grimace on Jace's face softened as he heard a melodious, angelic voice singing to him. It was a lullaby he remembered his mother used to sing to him; and he vaguely wondered if he had died and gone to heaven for it was impossible for his mother to be there if he were still alive. But as he paid closer attention to the angel's voice, he realized it wasn't his mother at all—_it was Clary_.

The dulcet, euphonious sound of her voice was truly magical, and slowly, Jace felt the pain ebb away. The taut, rigid muscles in his back relaxed and he let out a content sigh. He turned his head towards Clary's voice, and her moving lips brushed against his nose gently like the soft petals of a rose.

Instantly, her singing halted and Jace heard her gasp softly. Unexpectedly, she kissed the tip of Jace's nose, and his golden eyes flew open in surprise just as she pulled away.

"Hey," she said to him, her cheeks flushed as usual, and she gently poked the spot on his nose where she had kissed him moments ago.

"Hi," Jace returned with a smile, his honey eyes glinting with a warm emotion he couldn't place. The feelings he felt for her were so raw, he had never experienced it with anyone else before. And for those few seconds, it was almost as if everything bad had vanished from the room, and all he could see, feel, touch, and smell was Clary.

A throat cleared, and instantaneously, the spell that had both Jace and Clary entranced with each other was broken.

Jace averted his eyes and his gaze focused on the sparkly, Asian-looking man who was kneeling beside him with an amused look on his face. He squinted his eyes, wondering again if he was hallucinating. "Fairy godmother?" Jace asked, his voice small like a child's.

The man rolled his eyes as Clary giggled. "That's Magnus Bane the Magnificent to you, gladiator," he smirked, exchanging a glance with Clary. "Well, you seem all better now—_right, Clary_?" he said, a teasing note in his voice directed at the princess.

Knowing Clary, she was probably blushing again. Jace tried moving a little, and upon feeling a dull throb in his back, his movements ceased and he slumped against Clary again.

"I'll take it from here, Magnus," Clary said in a calm and strong voice.

Magnus nodded, leaving the bandages and salve behind so that Clary could nurse what remained of the gladiator's wounds. With a wink, he exited the cell, and Clary and Jace were by themselves again.

Clary sighed, breaking the awkward tension that hung in the air. "Well, that certainly went well. How are you feeling?" she asked in an almost uneven voice as she reached for the bandages.

"Like I've been rolling on a bed of burning coals," Jace admitted weakly.

Clary snorted, her lips curling up to form a tiny smile. "Have you even tried rolling on a bed of burning coals before?" she asked, the usual feistiness returning to her voice.

"Why, of course not, Milady. That would be terribly stupid of me, now would it?" he retorted half-heartedly; his body was still so exhausted, and he didn't know how long he could keep up with his wit.

"Clary," she corrected him.

"What?"

"I want you to call me 'Clary'," she said in a bashful whisper, earning a smile from Jace in return. She turned away from his gaze, her eyes shifting between the bandages and the salve, before letting out a disgruntled sigh.

Jace furrowed his eyebrows. "What's wrong, Clary?"

"We don't have a wet cloth or warm water to clean the blood off of you," she said, pinching her space between her eyebrows with a groan.

"Wait here," Clary said, removing Jace's head from her lap and placing it gently on the floor.

"I couldn't run away from you even if I tried—and I mean that in quite a literal sense," Jace replied, amusement detectable in his voice.

Clary rolled her eyes, patting Jace's head mockingly. "At least we know your sense of humor is still intact," she said as she got up, briefly leaving Jace by himself.

Now that the scorching pain in his back had somewhat faded, his muscles were aching from being stuck in the same position all night. Jace could only hope that he would still be able to walk, and hopefully, fight just as well after this. He had come too far, and too close to getting his revenge on Valentine, and he'd be damned if he let one whiplashing incident get in the way of things.

Minutes later, Clary reentered the room with two wooden bowls in her hand. She flopped down beside Jace, placing the bowls on the floor. "Do you think you can sit up?" she asked.

"I haven't moved at all since this afternoon," he mumbled. "But I might as well try. My muscles are killing me," he groaned.

Clary repositioned herself to kneel in front of Jace; she gingerly looped her arms beneath his armpits, helping to support his weight as he stretched his own hands out in front of him to push himself up into a sitting position.

Upon accomplishing their arduous task, Jace slumped forward again weakly, his head resting on Clary's shoulder. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach at the closeness of their contact, Clary reached for the wet towel in one of the wooden bowls. Wringing out the excess warm water from the towel, she then began to carefully dab away at the wound on Jace's back, meticulously ridding his skin of the dried blood.

Jace moaned, in slight pain but mostly in pleasure, at the soft, tentative touches on his back. Granted Clary was touching him with a towel rather than with her own hands, but it was still soothing enough to make him purr like a little kitten. Jace didn't know how long they were glued to each other in that position, he didn't care. He didn't_ want_ to care. It had been far too long since anyone had actually taken care of him, and he'd missed it.

After a while, Clary finally broke the silence.

"There. You're as good as new." She pulled back from him, beaming widely with satisfaction.

Jace couldn't help but smile back at her. "Thank you, Clary," he said softly, his aureate eyes venerating her as though she was truly a mystical being.

"You're welcome," she replied, breaking his intense gaze and reaching for the salve to apply it onto his skin.

Once the salve had been generously applied, and his wounds had been bound up neatly with the bandages, Clary reached for the other wooden bowl. By then, Jace was feeling slightly better and could sit up without needing to lean on Clary for support.

Clary stirred the contents of the bowl around with a spoon, frowning lightly. "It's tomato soup," she told him. "I'm really sorry…I meant to feed it to you before but I thought that your wounds needed my attention more, and I couldn't possibly nurse them and feed you at the same time, and now your soup's all cold," she rambled, her nose scrunching up together in self-annoyance as she began to unconsciously stir the soup faster.

"Hey, it's okay, Clary," Jace hushed her, his hand reaching for her wrist to cease her movements.

She peeked at Jace, pouting a little and he nodded at her in reassurance, opening his mouth for her to feed him. She smiled shyly, and eagerly complied, feeding him spoon after spoon until the bowl finally ran dry.

"I forgot to get you some water," she groaned again, slapping her forehead with her palm.

Jace chuckled at her frustration. "Really, Clary, it's all right," he assured her. He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers together lightly, a forlorn smile on his face.

"Thank you…for everything that you've done for me, for putting up with me. I know how disgusting I must look with all the blood and the scars, and you really didn't have to do what you did."

Clary opened her mouth to argue with him but he held his hand up to stop her. "And I'm really sorry about all the mean things I've said to you. I was wrong; you're nothing at all like your father. You're kind and beautiful, and I just—_thank you_," he finished earnestly, squeezing her hand gently.

Tears began welling up in Clary's eyes but she held them back. "You know you're wrong. I owe you everything. You stood up for me, you fought for me, and you could have _died_—" Her voice cracked, and she swallowed the dry lump in her throat.

"You could have died because of me, and I'm so sorry. I was stupid and selfish, and I'm so sorry for prying—"

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Clary. You have nothing to be sorry for," Jace cooed, pulling her into his arms just as she broke down into tears of guilt and regret.

He leaned his cheek against her hair affectionately, closing his eyes contentedly, returning her the comfort she had given him. She fitted perfectly in his embrace—it was almost as if their bodies were molded specifically for each other's. He pulled her auburn hair out of its ponytail and ran his fingers through them gently. They were soft, softer than he had imagined them to be.

Too soon, Clary pulled away, sniffling as she rubbed the tears away from her eyes. "I'm sorry I cry too much," she whispered meekly, causing Jace to chortle heartily despite himself.

His laughter died down soon enough though, when he began to feel his body aching again, and his face turned into a tight grimace. "_Ouch_," he choked, eliciting a peal of giggles from Clary in return.

"See? That's what you get for laughing at me," she tittered, clutching the stitch that had begun to form in her side.

"_Jace_," he said suddenly.

Clary's giggles halted and she looked at him confoundedly. "What?"

Jace inhaled a deep breath, his face serious as he held Clary's gaze. "My name is Jace," he said, biting his lip. "I thought you'd like to know that," he stuttered, then turned away, feeling panic rising within him.

Did he really just tell Clary his name?

'_Oh no, what if her father told her that Stephen Herondale had a son named Jace and she figures out that I'm _that Jace_? She's going to hate me, she's going to kill me,_' his mind blathered.

"Jace," she said, testing his name out on her tongue. He looked her wide-eyed in alarm, and Clary briefly wondered why he was looking at her like that.

To his surprise, she simply said, "I like it. _Jace._ It really suits you."

She smiled at him sincerely, and he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, blushing a little. '_Wait a second… Jace Herondale does not blush!'_ he panicked again despite his fatigued mind.

"You should sleep," she said softly, ending Jace's little mental fit.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, "Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"

Inside, Jace cursed himself for sounding so needy, for sounding so weak. What the hell was wrong with him? He was digging his own grave, just by letting himself to open up to Clary, by letting her in. But then, why couldn't he just stop?

"Of course," Clary murmured sweetly. "Come here," she said, patting the space on her lap, and Jace complied, laying his head on her lap, reclining on his side so as to avoid putting pressure on his still tender back.

"Good night, Clary," he said with a small smile, closing his eyes as Clary stroked his hair again, lulling him to sleep.

"_Good night, Jace_," was the last sweet thing he heard before he was consumed by peaceful oblivion.

And for the first time in eight years, no nightmares plagued him in his sleep.

* * *

**A/N:**

Ahh Clace fluffiness...and Clary finally knows Jace's name! *gasp*

Thoughts on this chapter? A lot of Clace moments to come from here on out...so I hope you guys will be excited for that. _(I'm assuming ya'll are Clace shippers after all!)_

I'll be busy for the next four to ten months, so I'm really sorry but I'm going to take a longer time to update from now on. Hopefully at least once a month. Till then, please drop me a review!

XO! ~N


	10. Chapter 9: A Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

SURPRISE, SURPRISE! I updated before the month was out!;) Honestly, the reason I decided to update early is because it's my birthday, and for some weird reason, I thought updating would be a great way of celebrating it:) OK, so enough about me, let's get on with the story!

Just to recap from where we left off the last chapter, Clary visited Jace in his cell the night of the whiplashing incident and took care of him...Jace in his moment of vulnerability lets Clary in and told her his name! YEP, and in this chapter, that I've set a week after the events in the previous chapter, we see their little friendship blossoming. Hehe, I can't wait for you guys to read this chapter! Not gonna give anything away! So without further ado, please R&amp;R!

p.s. Thank you for all the follows, favorites, and the lovely reviews so far...your loyalty to this story means so much to me and I love you guys so much;)

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters...

* * *

**Chapter 9: A Leap of Faith**

A week had passed since the horrendous whiplashing incident, and after spending an entire week in confinement in his cell in recovery, Jace was finally declared well enough to resume his gladiator training and nightly duties at the royal stables.

Though Jace hated to admit it, he was actually excited to be back, despite the unsavory task of shoveling manure. The past couple of days had been an absolute bore; being stuck in the dank cell all day long with no other company but Michael and Alec nearly drove Jace unhinged. If it weren't for Clary's nightly visits, he might have very well lost it.

A lazy smile adorned his lips as he recalled the past few nights he had spent in Clary's companionship. Ever since she learnt his name, Clary had been noticeably more forthcoming with Jace; they had joked more often and their little tête-à-tête sessions had been more casual and relaxed. Granted, they hadn't divulged into anything particularly personal or serious yet, but Jace liked how they were able to just talk about trivial things like their favorite colors without having to worry about upsetting the other. Not to mention, they'd even exchanged a couple of friendly hugs in the past week—which Jace secretly enjoyed, of course.

He knew that pursuing this friendship with Clary was risky. What if she found out who he really was? What if she was secretly spying on him for Valentine?

But then, Clary would never do that, would she? She hated her own father, that much he knew was true even if she would never admit it to him; she would never do favors for Valentine.

Being with Clary, especially when she was smiling or giggling, it made Jace feel a whole lot happier, and quite frankly, it made him feel more _alive_ than he had ever felt before.

"Jace!" Clary shrieked excitedly as she ran into the stables, her emerald green eyes sparkling with child-like happiness. She dropped the cherry-colored picnic basket she had been carrying to the floor of the stables, and unexpectedly, she flung herself at him.

Not having enough time to brace himself for the force of Clary's hug, Jace toppled over backwards onto the hard concrete-tiled floor, landing on his back in a graceless heap with Clary on top of him. Her small hands pressed against Jace's chest, Clary giggled heartily as he groaned, wincing as a sharp throb shot through his back.

All at once, Clary's giggles vanished and her emerald green eyes widened with worry. "Oh, Jace, are you okay? I'm so sorry. That was so stupid of me. What was I thinking? You're still hurting. Oh my God, I'm really sorry, Jace," she spluttered.

"Hush, Clary. I'm fine, just a little sore. For goodness' sake, you really need to learn how to stop rambling," Jace interrupted her with an amused look, his nose inadvertently brushing against hers.

Realizing how dangerously close their faces were from each other, Clary's eyes widened again and she quickly scrambled to her feet, brushing the dirt off of her emerald green gown. Jace got up as well, though with much more elegance this time, grinning at the sight of Clary's flaming scarlet cheeks.

"So, what are you doing here?" he asked smilingly.

Clary huffed at him and promptly placed her hands on her hips. "Oh, so do you want me to leave?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

"No, just curious, little one. No need to be so _touchy_," he teased.

"I am not little!" she argued. "I'm turning 16 tomorrow!"

Jace paused thoughtfully. "It's your birthday?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

"_To-mor-row_," Clary replied, enunciating each syllable in the word.

Her face suddenly turned bashful, and she lightly gnawed on her bottom lip. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you'd like to spend the eve of my birthday with me," she said in a small voice, her chin tucked closely to her neck as she avoided his eyes.

Jace placed two fingers underneath her chin, tilting it up gently so that he could meet her eyes.

Clary looked at him meekly. "I brought cupcakes," she added, causing Jace to stifle a laugh.

"Bribing me with cupcakes? You're trying to make me fat, aren't you?" he asked, attempting a solemn demeanor. In addition to Clary's little visits, she had also been spoiling him treats—snacks from _Taki's _mostly—and it was beginning to turn Jace into a sugar-obsessed child.

"You said you liked cupcakes," Clary said with a pout.

Jace chuckled. "Yeah, I do. But if I suddenly lose my perfectly-chiseled abs, I'm blaming_ you_," he said, poking her little button nose.

Clary scoffed. "Oh, please, it's not like anyone's going to see your abs anyway when you're fighting in the arena. No one's going to notice, much less care, if you're chubbier. And I beg to differ, your abs aren't as _perfect_ as you think they are," she retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

Jace's eyes widened. "Oh, how you wound me so, _Milady_!" he jested, placing his hand over his heart in mock-hurt.

"I swear—you and Jonathan should be best friends. You're both just as equally obnoxious as the other," Clary replied, before a grin stretched across her face and she bounced up and down on her toes enthusiastically. "So that's a yes, right?"

He grinned back at her. "How could I possibly say no to _cupcakes_?" he jibed, heading towards Wayfarer's stall.

* * *

What had started off as a joyous, peaceful ride soon turned into one that was completely daunting and perturbing.

Clary had expected Jace to be taking her to Lake Lynn again as they had on their first horse ride, but instead he'd made a detour, and now they were trapped inside the dark and foreboding stretches of Forbidden Forest, like rats in a maze.

"_Jace_," Clary whimpered, her arms tightening around him like a vise grip, her heart hammering loudly in her chest that she was certain the sound of her heartbeat could be heard echoing off the trees in the forest.

"Jace," she pleaded with him again.

"Shh, Clary. It's all right. Don't worry about it. We're not lost," Jace replied confidently, not sounding in the least bit unsettled.

Clary wasn't sure whether to take his confidence as a positive sign that he genuinely knew where he was going, or that he was simply being his complacent and egotistical self. She hoped to God it was the former. She didn't know how long she could survive being in there. It was called the _Forbidden _Forest for a reason! How she wanted to smack him senseless with the picnic basket for dragging her in there; but then, it wouldn't do her any good if her guide was knocked out cold now, would it?

Overhead, the moonlight cast ominous shadows on everything that it touched. Cedar trees towered above them sinisterly like the dark, malevolent spirits of the forest. Angry, deformed faces materialized from the gnarled and twisted bark of the tree trunks; the crooked, sprawling branches molded into shapes of grisly, unearthly talons; and shadows—_baleful shadows_—haunted them from every corner, forming the illusion of monstrous apparitions.

As the loud hooting of an owl penetrated the still air, Clary whimpered loudly and buried her face into Jace's back.

"Shh, Clary, just close your eyes and relax. We'll get _there_ soon," he told her in a sonorous voice.

Despite herself, Clary rolled her eyes in response, wondering exasperatedly where "there" was supposed to be.

Soon after, she felt Wayfarer's trots slow down to a halt, and she warily lifted her head from Jace's back. Instantly, dread filled her again.

"Where are we, Jace?" her voice trembled as Jace began to dismount the brown steed. He offered her his hand, his expression imploring her to trust him, and hesitantly, she did.

As Clary's feet landed on the grass, she quickly tucked herself into Jace's side, her hands yanking the material of his shirt tightly. Jace wrapped an arm around Clary's shoulder, hauling her closer to him, and he retrieved the basket from her shaking hands, leading her deeper into the glade.

There in the clearing of the forest stood an enormous tree—it was like nothing at all Clary had ever seen, grotesque, yet strangely beautiful at the same time. Its trunk was massive and sturdy, with swirling vines that interwove with one another, forming a series of intricate knots; thick, long branches protruded from the tree, extending in wild directions in an ornate pattern that resembled a spider web; and leaves of various hues of green embellished the tree, fluttering lightly against the soft night breeze.

In the middle of its trunk was a tall archway that could easily be passed off as a mystical portal to another dimension. A canopy of billowing leaves hung down from it like an old, worn tapestry, obscuring the panorama that lay beyond the mysterious, old tree.

It was only after Jace had tugged Clary forward towards the veiled archway that she realized she had been frozen to the spot, silently gaping at it. She turned her head towards Jace, deep creases formed on her forehead, but he only smiled at her in return.

_What was he doing?_

What if there were snakes or other carnivorous creatures hiding behind that archway, secretly waiting to pounce and feast on human flesh? Or worse, what if there were supernatural beings guarding the place, biding their time to lead them to some other transcendental realm, where they could never escape?

Clary knew she was being irrational by conjuring up a bunch of ridiculous theories, but at this point, she couldn't help it. Was Jace crazy?

'_Oh my God! What if he is crazy and psychotic? Maybe he's been secretly distressed from the whole whiplashing incident and is trying to retaliate by killing me! It makes sense; I was the reason he nearly died. Oh no, he's going to murder me, and then he's going to dump my body here and leave me to rot where no one else can find me!'_

Clary's eyes widened in fear, and to Jace's own shock, she let out a loud, ear-piercing scream.

Jace's heart floundered in his chest just as Clary's shrill screech pierced the night air. He reeled over backwards, landing on his butt, the picnic basket chucked a foot away from him. He could have sworn he felt his skin jump an inch off his bones and he stared wide-eyed at the hysterical princess.

She held her hands out in front of her, as if to ward him away, and then before he knew it, she burst out into a run, heading towards Wayfarer. It took Jace only a second to regroup himself, and then, he was up on his feet, his long strides easily catching up with her.

Clary was about to mount Wayfarer when she felt Jace's strong, muscular arms grabbing her from behind, yanking her body against his. She panicked, and began throwing small punches on his arms, willing him to free her, but Jace didn't budge at all.

"Jace! Jace, let go of me!" she shrieked frantically, but Jace's grip didn't even loosen.

In a desperate attempt to free herself, Clary bit down hard on Jace's arm and effectively, he released her, muttering curses as he examined the new tiny teeth marks on his arm. Clary stumbled onto the grass and crawled behind Wayfarer, using the horse as a shield to protect herself from Jace.

She peeked in between the horse's legs at Jace and saw him eyeing her queerly, as though he was mulling over the possibility that she had gone insane.

"Clary, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jace asked her in disbelief.

"_You_—you were going to kill me and dump my body into some—some _swamp_!" she yelled as tears began pouring down from her eyes.

Jace gave Clary a look of pure incredulity at her accusation, and then to her surprise, he doubled over in manic laughter.

Clary broke out of her teary haze, feeling her temper beginning to flare up from within her. "What the hell is so funny?" she demanded.

"You—you thought I was—going to kill you!" he snorted out as he continued laughing at her. He clutched at his stomach and Clary waited minutes before he finally calmed down, a huge infuriating grin plastered onto his face. She growled at him, and the grin instantly fell from his lips.

Jace walked towards Clary slowly, heaving her off the grass and brought her to his chest, hugging her tightly. "Clary, where did you get that crazy notion from?" he asked her in a gentle voice, though Clary knew he was trying his best to control himself from breaking out into another round of laughter.

"You were going to drag me to that weird, scary tree," she replied in a thin voice. "And, I don't know, I thought you wanted to kill me for revenge for the whole whiplashing incident with Sebastian."

"I _know._ And I'll admit—dragging you to that tree must have seemed very… _shady_ of me. But Clary, I already told you; I don't blame you for that incident with Se_bas-tard_. You trust me, don't you? I'll never let anything bad happen to you, I promise," he said reassuringly.

She nodded. "But, Jace, why are we going into that tree?"

Jace smirked. "That's for me to know, and for you to find out," he simply said, pulling her towards the archway in the tree again. She didn't budge. "Oh, come on, Clary. Have a little faith in me," he pleaded with her.

She sighed, hesitantly taking a step forward and then another, until they were finally standing in front of the veiled entrance of the tree. "You better not make me regret my decision of trusting you," she grumbled, cueing another smirk from Jace.

"And just so we're clear—If I _die_, I'll make sure to haunt you for the rest of your life," she warned as Jace retrieved the picnic basket from the grass where he had accidentally dropped it during Clary's little panic fit.

He cocked an eyebrow at her expertly. "Look at you, making threats already. My, my, Clary, how you've grown," he teased her.

Without even the slightest bit of wavery, Jace marched towards the leaf-infested archway, holding up a mass of tangled leaves and vines to the side so that they could enter the archway without any of it hindering them.

Clary chewed on her bottom lip nervously. It was so dark, and she couldn't see anything beyond the vines. Was it some sort of a cave constructed into a tree?

"After you, Milady," he inclined his head to the side, nudging her forward towards the entrance.

Clary took a deep breath, and with a leap of faith, she entered the archway.

* * *

_Beautiful_ was an understatement to describe what Clary saw as reached the other side of the archway. Her jaw fell open in awe as she drank in the enchanting sight that lay before her.

There, as far as the eye could see was a meadow; it stretched on, miles and miles, a glorious and almost-divine expanse of lush green grass, festooned with a multitude of flowers—reds, yellows, purples and whites clashed against each other in a riot of colors.

Clary recognized some of the species of flowers from her botany books—rose mallows, marigolds, cape daisies, wild birds, corn chamomiles and a dozen more she barely remembered herself. Yet, an even more breathtaking sight was the myriad of fireflies that floated amongst the flora, radiating a swarm of bright yellow luster that was even more brilliant than any of the stars that hung in the night sky.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Jace's resonant voice broke Clary out of her reverie; she had been so enamored by the magical sight that she had completely forgotten about his presence.

"Breathtaking," she breathed, never taking her eyes off of the meadow.

Jace smiled at Clary; her emerald eyes were shimmering with complete wonderment it made his heart melt. He twined his fingers around her small ones, tugging her hand lightly to get her attention. He noticed her reluctance as she peeled her eyes away from the meadow and looked at him begrudgingly, a questioning look etched onto her porcelain face.

Jace smiled at her. "Come on," he said, leading her into the meadow.

Clary smiled back at him and wordlessly followed, her insides imploding with excitement. The meadow wasn't very tall, thankfully, only reaching her knees.

Jace pulled Clary down onto the grass, and she eagerly complied, soaking in the feeling of the grass against her body. It was soft, softer than any silk. She inhaled the scent that wafted through the air deeply—the sweet-smelling fragrance of flowers mixed with the fresh, earthy smell of rich soil.

Clary ran her fingers over the grass, and delicately caressed the soft petal of a flower belonging to a plant she didn't recognize. The flower was rather oddly shaped, slightly hairy in texture, and its color was a soft blend of white and lilac.

"That's _clary sage_," Jace told her after watching her finger the petal of the flower curiously.

Clary looked up at him, a look of surprise on her face, mostly because of the stark realization that the flower was her namesake.

"It's beautiful," she returned, not knowing what else to say.

"Just like you," Jace said with an earnest expression, his aureate eyes fixated on her intensely.

Clary blushed and looked away, her hands reaching for the picnic basket. She took out a box of cupcakes she had bought earlier that day from _Taki's _and removed the lid. She frowned at the cupcakes. "They're all smudged," she said.

Jace took the box from her hands. Sure enough, all the frosting and toppings on the cupcakes were smudged; some of the cupcakes were toppled over—courtesy of Jace having dropped the basket earlier.

"Oh well…at least they're still edible. It's your fault I dropped the basket just now anyway, what with you screaming like you're part-banshee. You're lucky I didn't die of a heart attack, otherwise, you'd be trapped in this forest forever," Jace commented flippantly.

Clary narrowed her eyes at him indignantly. "My fault? Are you honestly blaming me now? Why, yes, now that I think of it, _of course it's my fault_! After all, anyone in their right minds _wouldn't_ get suspicious and freak out when they're being dragged into the Forbidden Forest and into an even creepier tree!" she retorted sarcastically.

"You have such little faith in me…surely you must've heard of the expression that '_things aren't always what they seem'_," Jace said with a pout.

Clary smirked in return. "Hmm, I quite agree with that expression, especially where _you_ are concerned. I mean, who would've thought that underneath all that hard muscle, you were just a jumpy little boy? I mean, it took one little scream to knock you off your feet, _literally_," she mocked him.

"Oh, don't even go there, missy. I'll have you know that _nothing_ gets to Jace Her—" he froze, quickly catching himself before he could let his surname slip.

Clary quirked an eyebrow, "'_Her_'?"

He cleared his throat loudly. "Nothing. I just thought there was something on your _hair_. It's gone now," he lied smoothly.

Clary shrugged. "You are such a weird boy," she shook her head before reaching for the box of cupcakes on Jace's lap.

And just like that, Jace's almost slip-up was forgotten.

They devoured their cupcakes contentedly, playing a game of '20 questions' as per Clary's request; though by now, Jace was certain they'd gone up to 50 questions instead. It was extremely stressful for Jace—he didn't know what sort of questions Clary would ask him, but luckily for him, they'd managed to swerve clear of topics regarding his childhood and past.

Jace learnt, among other things, that Clary, like her mother, was an artist, and loved to sketch and paint in her free time. At this, Jace couldn't help but tease her by offering to be her nude model, claiming that his looks could easily put Adonis to shame. And of course, she returned his jest with a much endearing blush.

Now, much to Jace's disdain, they were talking about something Jace hated almost as much as Valentine—ducks.

Clary giggled, "So you're saying that if you were given the choice of whether to fight against a pack of lions or a flock of ducks in the arena, you would choose to fight lions instead?"

Jace leveled her with a serious and almost incredulous look. "Yes, Clary, I'm saying that exactly," he said flatly.

She giggled again. "But Jace, ducks are so cute! They're so fluffy and cuddly, and besides, I've always wanted a little duckling as a pet!"

He looked at her as though she had grown two heads. "Never, ever trust a duck or call it 'cute', Clarissa. Those devious little creatures… Have you ever seen their eyes? They're beady, like a demon's. I bet they're a bunch of bloodthirsty cannibals too," he gritted out, causing Clary to laugh harder.

"Whatever you say, Jace." She grinned at him widely.

After a while, they lapsed into silence again, basking in the peacefulness of the meadow—that was, until Clary chose to speak up again.

"Jace, how did you find this place?" Clary asked, looking at him intently.

Jace froze, swallowing the last bite of cupcake in his mouth almost painfully. When he brought Clary here, he didn't even think about the possibility of her questioning him about his knowledge about the place. What was he supposed to tell her?

Truthfully, of course, the reason he knew about this place was because of his parents; they had brought him here when he was five.

Jace remembered that day perfectly.

Just like Clary, he had been utterly terrified—_and had very nearly wet his own pants_—when his father had dragged him through the archway in the scary, old tree; and just like Clary, he had been completely awed when he first saw the enchanting meadow.

Jace remembered his father telling him that in his teenage years, he had often spent his time exploring Idris; and it was on one of his little adventures that he had discovered the secret meadow. For Stephen Herondale, the meadow had always held a special meaning to him. It was here that he had shared his first kiss with his true love, Jace's mother, Celine, when she was 16 and he 18.

No one else knew about the meadow, of course. It had always been a place that belonged to the Herondales, and now, Jace thought, it belonged to Clary, too.

Jace didn't know why he had even brought her here. Divine intervention, perhaps? Or maybe, despite the fact that his mind kept telling him that he couldn't, or shouldn't, trust Clary enough to tell her about who he really was, his heart still wanted him to open up to her. And of course, what better way to open up to her than by bringing her to a place that was close to his heart?

Maybe in a sense, his heart was telling him that he _did_ trust Clary.

"Jace?" Clary's voice broke him out of his rumination.

"Hmm?" he asked her, blinking rapidly to clear his mind off his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just remembering," he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's just that—I—" he stuttered, and Clary reached out to grab both of his hands in hers, squeezing them gently in assurance.

"Can you—Can you keep a secret?" he asked in a small voice. He had never felt more vulnerable, and quite honestly, more _afraid_ than he was now. In fact, he hadn't felt like this since the night his mother died.

"Yes," she replied, smiling at him encouragingly.

He squeezed her hands tighter, feeling comfort radiating from her touch. With a sigh, he told her, "I used to live here, in Idris, before I became I slave."

Clary processed his words, the silence stretching between them. "So," she began carefully, not wanting to set him off, "I take it your parents used to take you here?"

Jace winced noticeably, and he looked away from her. He nodded; a lump was beginning to form in his throat, and he didn't think he was capable of speech right now.

To his surprise, Clary only said, "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Jace nodded, a small smile on his lips to convey his apology—_for not being able to tell her about his past_—and his gratitude towards her—_for her not pushing him to tell her about it_.

Clary nodded at him in return, and they continued to eat their cupcakes in silence.

Clary knew better; she wasn't going to pry anything from Jace if he wasn't comfortable with talking about it. She was curious about his past life in Idris, yes, but she had learnt from her past few encounters with Jace that she should never push him to tell her things he didn't want to. She could see from his face how much it hurt him to remember his past—it was definitely the chink in his armor.

She knew now the reason behind his entire masculine ego and arrogance. It was just a façade, a mask he turned to to hide his real feelings, his insecurities; that underneath all of his _perfection_, he was really just a little boy—scared and vulnerable. Yet, Clary found, that she wasn't turned off by his flaws; it just made him seem more of a human, and she liked that much more about him.

In the far off distance, the clock tower in Idris tolled, signaling that it was already midnight.

Clary's eyes widened in shock as she realized that she had been spending a whole three hours with Jace and that she had just missed her curfew.

What if someone came into her room to check in on her and found her missing?

Her father would definitely flip out—well, he would more than likely be irked and punish her by whipping her with his belt. And not to mention, he would also probably send out a search party for her, and that would definitely not end well for her, and _especially_ Jace.

'_Oh my God. Jace! He would probably be accused of kidnapping me and then Father would most likely sentence him to death!'_ she thought worriedly.

"Jace! We have to go! Now!" Clary almost screamed at him, scrambling to her feet.

He looked at her in confusion. "Huh?"

"It's midnight! I just missed my curfew. If anyone finds out I'm missing from my room, we'll both be dead! Well, you more than me, but anyway, we have to go!" she said urgently, tugging at his arm to force him up onto his feet.

Hearing the insistence in her voice, Jace got up quickly. Clary was clearly in a state of frenzy, and Jace wasn't going to go against her wishes—she would probably scream at him again if he ignored her.

_'Time passes by too quickly,'_ Jace thought morosely.

In her haste to leave, Clary failed to notice that the picnic basket was still in its place on the grass. Mistakably, she took a huge step forward, and her foot coincidentally caught with the handle of the basket.

She tumbled forward, flailing her arms wildly. Closing her eyes, she braced herself for the impact of the fall—but it never came.

Strong hands clutched her by her waist, and Clary felt herself being hauled backwards into Jace's muscular arms, her back pressed up against his chest. Her heart sped up; she turned her head around to thank Jace, but just as they came face-to-face, he tilted his face down towards her, and caught her lips with his.

* * *

Jace didn't what he was doing or what was happening, but honest to God, he couldn't give a damn about it.

He faintly registered the sound of Clary's gasp as their lips touched, but even then, he refused to pull away. Her lips stilled against his for just a few seconds before she responded to him eagerly, their lips moving against each other in perfect synchronization, like the perfect harmony of musical notes.

Turning Clary around in his arms fully, Jace pulled her body flush against his as they kissed, dipping her head backwards to deepen the kiss.

Her lips felt so soft against his own, almost like the brushing of the soft petals of a rose. It was almost too much, and yet, at the same time, Jace just couldn't get enough of her.

Barely swallowing his moan, he licked the seam of Clary's lips, begging for entrance. Slowly, she granted him access, and they explored her each other's mouths, reveling in the taste of the other.

Instant hunger spread through Jace's core at the taste of Clary and he sighed contentedly into her mouth. _He couldn't help it. _She tasted so sweet, like the mixture of caramel and cinnamon.

Hell, she tasted better any cupcake, and Jace never wanted to let her go.

* * *

Clary had never kissed anyone before, but she knew that no other kiss could surpass the one she was sharing with Jace right now.

All her worries, all her inhibitions left her as she poured her heart and soul into the kiss. Her hands threaded through Jace's soft, lustrous curls, pulling his face impossibly closer to hers. His left arm held her securely against his body, his hand resting on her waist while his right hand wove itself through her long red tresses.

All too quickly, they pulled away from each other, silently cursing the need for air. They were both panting heavily, as though they had just ran from corner of the meadow to the other; but they were smiling, their bodies thrumming with euphoria from that single kiss. Jace leaned his forehead against hers, their breaths still intermingling with each other's.

"We really need to go," Clary panted, her emerald green eyes gazing deeply into his aureate ones.

Reluctantly, Jace complied, but only after placing another small peck by the corner of her mouth. They broke out of their embrace, heading back towards the forest clearing—all the while their hands remained entwined with each other's.

* * *

The ride back to the royal stables was in peaceful silence.

Clary's head rested against Jace's back, her arms coiled tightly around his waist as she soaked in his warmth. She closed her eyes, feeling perfectly serene and happy—more than she had ever felt in a long time.

Jace was her first kiss, she thought repeatedly with a smile—and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Kissing him was truly phenomenal. If she had thought that touching him was enough to make her insides tingle, then kissing him was like having fireworks explode throughout her entire body.

Again, Clary couldn't help but wish that Jace were a prince instead of a gladiator. She would've married him in a heartbeat!

Just the thought of being with someone else, kissing another man's lips, felt wrong.

She sighed at the thought. At this point though, she just hoped that no one would notice her missing from the palace and go searching for her; she didn't want to get Jace into trouble, not when her night had been so unbelievably perfect so far.

She moved her right hand up, pressing her palm against his chest where his heart was pounding. It was extremely comforting, and she let her mind focus solely on Jace's strong heartbeat.

* * *

Jace felt alive, _more than alive_. His heart was racing with so much adrenaline and—dare he say it—_happiness_. For the first time in eight years, when he had kissed Clary, he let his mind completely forget all his worries, his past, and his quest for revenge to kill Valentine—and he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't liberating or uplifting.

Was it right to feel this way though? Was he being selfish for wanting Clary more than he wanted to kill Valentine, more than he wanted to avenge his parents? Maybe he was being selfish, but he deserved every little bit of happiness too, didn't he?

He didn't have the time to answer his own questions as the stables came into sight.

As soon as they came to a stop, Clary jumped off Wayfarer, her green eyes shifting around anxiously as she glanced around the stables. No one else was there but her and Jace, _thankfully_, and she breathed out a sigh of relief.

Once Jace had returned Wayfarer to his stall, the bolts to his door secured properly, Clary walked up to him and threw her arms around his neck, wanting nothing more than to feel him. He hugged her back, just as tightly, as though he, too, never wanted to let her go.

After a minute of hugging, Clary pulled away. "What happens now? Between the two of us?" she asked timidly, her green eyes not daring to look into Jace's aureate ones.

Jace sighed heavily. "I don't know, Clary," he replied after a while. "Things—it's just complicated between us. I'm _me_ and you're…you. I don't know how—"

"But you want to be with me, right?" she interrupted, her eyes glazing with unshed tears as she finally made eye contact with him.

Jace froze for a moment in shock at the straightforwardness of Clary's question.

Did he want to be with her? _Hell yes._

He didn't understand the feelings he had for her, but Jace knew without a shred of a doubt that he at least _liked_ Clary. It didn't matter if she was infuriating and made him mad at times. The point was, she made him feel _something_. And that was better than just living his life like an empty vessel, never having to feel anything or only having to bottle all of his emotions up.

Would it be worth it though? Was Clary worth the chance? Would it all be worth it, to free-fall into the unknown?

Jace nodded unwaveringly, his eyes shining with determination. "I do. I want there to be an…_us_. There's nothing I want more than that, nothing I want more than you. I'm not going to lie. I really like you, Clary, and I want you to give me a chance, give us a chance," he said earnestly. "You will, won't you? You'll give us a chance?"

Clary smiled, a happy tear running down her cheek. "Of course. Even if it's hard or damn near impossible, I want you. I want no one else but you." She blushed, looking at Jace from underneath her eyelashes. "And I really like you too, Jace," she admitted, biting her lip abashedly.

Jace chuckled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear lovingly before gently swiping the tear away from her cheek, his touch lingering. He smirked, "Then let's seal the deal with a kiss."

He bent down, and captured her lips with his in a slow and gentle kiss; it was nothing at all feverish like the kiss they'd shared at the meadow, but it was filled with just as much passion and emotion. When they pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers, giving her a smile he reserved only for her.

"Tomorrow night?" he asked.

She nodded comprehendingly. "Tomorrow night. I'll see you then."

She pecked him lightly on the lips again, and turned to leave.

"Clary?" Jace's voice stopped her in her tracks and she turned back to look at him. He grinned, "Happy Birthday, my Clarissa."

She blushed, like the smitten teenage girl that she was and said softly, "You're the best birthday present I've ever gotten, you know that?"

"Of course," Jace replied smugly.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Good night, you arrogant bastard," she said as she headed towards the exit of the stables. With a final glance at her secret lover, she vanished from his sight.

Jace grinned to himself, his fingers lightly skimming over his lips as he reminisced the feeling of Clary's lips pressed against his just moments ago. Pursuing this relationship with Clary was risky, but for now, he didn't want to worry about the consequences. He wanted to feel happy—even if it only lasted for one night.

* * *

**A/N:**

HOLY MOTHER OF CHEESINESS!

Sorry about that; I'm aware of just how bloody cheesy I am, and I apologize if it was too much...but that's exactly just the way I am, haha;) On the other hand, I do hope that at least some of you liked it/loved it? *bats my eyelashes innocently*

I spent a lot of time researching on arched trees and meadows for this chapter...but obviously this tree wouldn't exist in real life...I just added my own 'spin' to it to make it cooler? Huh, I just realized that the archway to the meadow is kinda a little like the wardrobe to Narnia...that was definitely not intentional...meh, at least we know that no magic/supernatural etc. is going to happen in this story...

But anyway, do leave me your thoughts on this chapter, your favorite parts about it, or what do you think will happen in the next one...etc, etc. BTW, it was purely coincidental that I posted this chapter on Clary's birthday on my birthday...but heck, just FYI, in this story, the timeline is probably somewhere around mid-October so technically, I don't have the same birthday as Clary.

Again, I know it's annoying that I keep apologizing, but the subsequent updates will be done monthly...I'm in my final year of tertiary studies and school is being a real pain in the *ahem* you-know-what-I-mean...I'm really sorry to those of you who wish I could update sooner! If you really want, you could PM me for a snippet for the next chapter?

BUT ANYWAY, City of Heavenly Fire is coming out in just a couple days from now! I bet everyone will be busy with COHF then to bother with FF! (Or I could be wrong)... I'm interested to know your opinions on what you think will happen in COHF! Who do you guys think are the six characters who are going to die? Who do you think are the two couples that are going to get married? (Fingers crossed* CLACE! CLACE! CLACE!) and btw, any of you guys big fans of the tmi movie? I'm like still wondering when they'll announce that they're making CoA. If they don't, I'd be seriously disappointed for life:(

OK, I'm rambling; sorry I'm high! Will shut up now...

Please remember to review, guys! It'll really make my day!;D Hope everyone has had a fantastic day so far!

XO!

~N


	11. All Good Things Come to an End (Somehow)

**Author's Note:**

Hey, guys! Thanks for all the follows, favorites, and above all, the wonderful reviews in the last chapter! I just want ya'll to know how much I appreciate your sweet words and support, so thank you so much for that!:)

Kay, this is a super long, intense and emotionally-packed chapter. So prepare yourselves. I'm not going to promise that you guys will like it but I hope that you will anyway, cos I've worked extremely hard on this...ugh, I've read this chapter and edited it so many times that I feel so emotionally drained. I'll spare you guys from a long A/N because this chapter is really just too darn long!

NOTE: The events of this chapter take place a week after Clary and Jace began secretly dating...so you guys can fill in the gaps for yourselves. You'll mostly see Jace's fears and vulnerabilities shining through in this chapter and Clary's past as well.

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 10: All Good Things Come to an End (Somehow)**

Clary brushed her fiery-red curls in front of her mirror furiously, a barely repressed smile etched onto her face as she hastily got ready for her nightly rendezvous with Jace.

She reached for the cocoa lip balm on her vanity and daubed it on her lips evenly—_she couldn't be kissing Jace with chapped lips now, could she?_

She grinned, straightening her blouse as she gave her appearance a final once-over.

It had been a week since they had gotten together, and Clary had to admit, the thrill of pursuing this secret relationship with Jace was both scary and exciting for her. She had never done anything remotely rebellious before, and the thought of doing something that clearly went against her father's wishes made her insides tickle with humor and elation. After the incident with Sebastian, she hadn't had the 'pleasure' of meeting any more suitors, so everything was actually going good for her so far.

She glanced at the clock; it was half past nine—_perfect_.

Lately, it was all Clary could do to not run off to the stables to Jace each night the clock struck eight. Jace had made it clear to her that she should only come down to meet him after he had had an hour and a half to himself to finish up his duties at the stables. She remembered him telling her something along the lines of "…if you're there by the time I clock in, I'm not sure I would be able to get any of my job done...and if that happens, _they're_ going to get suspicious about my activities and start sending someone to supervise me during my whole four hours here, and then, we wouldn't get any time to ourselves." So needless to say, Clary put up no arguments to Jace's valid point.

Clary turned away from the mirror, and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest at the sight of Izzy leaning against the doorway to her room, her arms folded across her chest and a giant smirk plastered onto her face.

Clary placed her hand on her chest, over her pounding heart, before scowling at her raven-haired maid. "What the hell, Izzy? You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Izzy's smirk grew impossibly wider, and she sauntered coolly into Clary's room. "My, my, what do we have here, hmm, Clary? Sneaking off somewhere?" she said, amusement plain on her face as she fiddled with a strand of Clary's red hair.

Clary narrowed her eyes at her maid. "That's none of your business, Izzy," she gritted out, enunciating every word in the sentence.

"What's got your stockings in a twist, _Lady Clarissa_?" Izzy jibed, knowing it would annoy Clary further if she addressed her by her royal formalities.

Clary rolled her eyes. "I'm going horseback riding, Iz. No need for you to interrogate me like you're my father," she returned hotly as she tried to maneuver her way around the raven-haired maid.

Of course, Izzy had to be exasperating and blocked Clary's path before she could make a run for it. "Horseback riding, eh? And who's this lovely, mysterious horseback rider who's been escorting you?" She paused, fingering her chin mischievously. "Or should I say _courting_ you?"

Clary's glare faltered for just a split second before she mustered a growl, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't play coy with me, Clary," Izzy grinned. "Don't think I haven't noticed… Ever since the night of your birthday—when you slipped into your room past your curfew, might I add—you've been having all these secret smiles to yourself…your eyes have been shining like you're on cloud nine, and you've been acting like a giddy, lovesick teenager. Therefore, the only logical explanation I can conclude from this, is, you've been kissed, and now you're seeing this _someone_…he's forbidden, though, isn't he?" She waggled her eyebrows at her impishly.

Clary's mouth fell open in shock. She was so sure that no one had noticed her sneaking into her room after her late-night birthday celebration with Jace, but this whole time, Izzy knew? Internally, she was freaking out. What was she supposed to say? Clary was a terrible liar; and as for Izzy, she had always been a walking lie detector. Had she really been that obvious despite her attempts at hiding her secret relationship?

Clary glanced at the clock again—10 precious minutes had passed.

She bit her lip; she was feeling increasingly conflicted about whether to make a dash for Jace and leave Izzy to her own musings, or to come clean with her about her relationship. Time was ticking still, so Clary decided to choose the former—Izzy could chew her out for information later.

Summoning her agility, Clary burst into action; she skirted around Izzy, bumping into her none too gently on the shoulder. She faintly registered Izzy's yell of protest but made no effort to care as she bolted away from her room and towards the direction of the stables where Jace was waiting for her.

* * *

They were in the meadow again. Clary sat nestled in between Jace's legs, her dainty, little fingers studiously engrossed in making a flower crown while her boyfriend idly played with her hair.

Jace swept Clary's hair to the side, exposing the back of the neck. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to the sensitive skin there and instantly, he felt his girlfriend let out a small shiver of pleasure. He smiled against her skin; he loved being able to evoke such a response out of her. Coiling his arms around her torso, Jace pulled Clary flush against his chest before burying his head in the crook of her neck.

He held onto her tight, never wanting to let her go; he was afraid that if he did, she would slip away from his fingers and out of his reach forever.

Jace couldn't help the feeling of vulnerability that engulfed him every time he was with Clary. It was like a ceaseless shadow, following him around everywhere he went.

Who would have guessed that the small, pixie-like princess could tame the mighty, almost-invincible gladiator? That she could have him wrapped around her tiny little finger and force him down onto his knees? Not Jace.

Before Clary, he had never cared about other girls, never paused to spare them a second glance. The only other girl he had ever kissed was a servant girl he had met in Renwick, when he had been on tour for his gladiator training; and the only reason he had ever kissed her was because he had been curious and wanted to know what it felt like to kiss. He had felt nothing—no sparks or fireworks like when he had kissed and _have_ kissed Clary since the night of her birthday; and he knew then and there that no other girl could ever hold a candle to his beautiful princess.

The first few days they'd been together had felt like a wonderful, surreal dream—almost too good to be true. It was only after the third day that Jace had started to wonder when he would have to wake up from this dream and be unceremoniously dumped back into reality.

At this point, Jace was still at a loss—he knew he wanted, no,_ needed_ to end Valentine, but at the same time, he _needed_ Clary so much more. He still couldn't fathom the feelings he had for her, but all he knew was that he needed her, emotionally more than physically. No matter how short the amount of time they've spent knowing each other, Clary had healed him, of old wounds and new. She made him forget the pain, the loss, the loneliness in his life—just as long as she was there, holding him, touching him, kissing him. She was his beacon, his escape—whether she knew it or not.

Jace knew that he shouldn't be too dependent on Clary, but no matter how hard he fought against his own personal urges, they kept drawing him back to her—to Clary, always, _always,_ to Clary. But was it the same for her as it was for him? Did she need him like he needed her? What would happen to her—to _them_—if her father told her that he had found her another suitor for her to marry?

Jace knew that whatever they had now, they wouldn't have it forever; Clary herself had told him that Valentine had already announced her wedding date—specifically, the day _after_ the final games this year—although she had yet to find herself a suitor. But still, why hadn't Clary spoken a word about it? Why was she pretending that their relationship was easier than it actually was? Didn't she want him to do something about it, to save her from marrying someone else? Or was he just a momentary distraction, a _chance_ for her to spite her father? When the time came, would she break things off with him and force him to accept the painful fact that she would be married to another man and have a family with him?

Jace had been so deep in his musings, he didn't even realize that Clary had been trying to get his attention for the last two minutes. He snapped out of his thoughts as Clary turned her head around and planted a tender kiss on his cheek.

"Jace?" she whispered against his cheek worriedly.

"Hmm?" he responded, turning his head so that their noses were brushing against each other and her lips were just inches away from his.

Clary gazed deeply into his golden eyes, her emerald green eyes searching his face inquisitively as though she was trying to read him. Hoping to stall her from the inevitable question he didn't want to face, Jace leaned forward and kissed her deeply, his tongue immediately seeking hers as they engaged in a battle for dominance. Allowing him to win, Clary fell pliant in his arms, and he pulled her closer, tighter, to him, dipping her head backwards to further deepen the kiss—deeper, till they were practically devouring each other.

After a while, he felt her smile coyly against his lips and she slowly pulled away, her face slightly flushed and her darkened green eyes twinkling with a knowing look. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?" she murmured, teasing his lips.

"When did my little angel learn to read my mind?" he asked her with a forced chuckle. "And since when did you become such a tease, hmm?"

He pulled her towards him again, trying to capture her lips with his, but she pushed against his chest firmly. "Oh, no, you're not going to kiss me until you tell me what's bothering you," she told him in a stern voice, and he sighed, looking away.

Seeing the dejected look on his face, Clary trailed her hands up from his chest and cupped his face. He hesitantly met her eyes, smiling weakly. Clary could see the maelstrom of emotions swimming in the pools of his honey orbs—whatever he was thinking, it wasn't bound to be good. She bit her lip, and against her own will, her earlier concerns regarding Izzy's suspicions about her relationship resurfaced. She had been trying to push it down, trying to distract herself from it for as long as possible, wanting to enjoy just being with Jace; but seeing him with that look, it was hard to accomplish what she wanted.

Jace noticed the look on Clary's face changing to mirror his and he frowned. "What's wrong, Clary?" he asked, gently brushing his thumb over her cheek.

To his surprise, she only smirked at him in return. "You know you're not being fair. I asked you first," she retorted.

"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, a lopsided grin on his face. "Are we going to resort to childish games now? 'You go first! No, you go first!'" he mocked her in a high-pitched voice.

Clary narrowed her eyes at him. "I do not sound like that!"

Smiling, Jace pecked the bridge of her nose. "Yes, you do," he drawled.

"No, I don't!" she protested, her voice raised an octave higher, much like Jace's earlier imitation, and she clapped her hand over her mouth, blushing furiously.

Jace grinned smugly. "See? I told you so."

Clary stuck her tongue out at him. "Whatever, Jace." The playful gleam in her eyes faded, replaced with a solemn look. "In all seriousness though, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she prodded him again.

Jace sighed. With each passing day, it was getting harder to say no to Clary. The guilt of keeping his real identity and his past a secret from her was beginning to eat him up alive—the least he could do at this point was to be truthful with her, right? Even if he couldn't tell her everything, he could tell her part of it. Jace swallowed, causing his Adam's apple to bob slowly.

"I was just thinking about when we were going to wake up from this dream, and when you would have to leave me and marry someone else. I hate to admit it but I—I'm a little _sca_—I don't want it to end…" He trailed off in a quiet voice before masking his face to look emotionless.

"Me too," Clary replied before burying her face in her hands—she didn't it to end either. Oh, God knows how much she didn't want to leave him.

But then, in a few months' time, she would have to. She would have no choice. To pretend that their relationship could survive this was just… she was just sparing them false hope, prolonging the inevitable. Izzy was already suspicious. It wouldn't take long for her to find out that she was seeing Jace. And pretty soon, if they kept this up, her father would find out, too. And then what?

"_Jace,_ _maybe we shouldn't be doing this anymore_," she whispered brokenly, causing Jace's eyes to widen fractionally in surprise. He stared back at her in disbelief as she looked down at her own hands, biting her lip anxiously as if in an attempt to control herself from crying.

Jace's heart thudded painfully in his chest. What was she saying? First, she admitted to him that she didn't their relationship to end, but now she was saying that they shouldn't be doing _this_? But why? Was it because she was frustrated with him, because he was pulling himself back, because he hadn't told her anything 'real' about himself?

All of a sudden, cold fear gripped Jace. It wasn't so much of the fear of having his identity found out by Clary as it was the fear of her leaving him. _Of losing her._

"Clary, angel, please listen to me. You have to understand something," Jace started. "I—Before I met you…I was just an empty gladiator. I had nothing; I had no one. I had no purpose, no reason to live other than to fight to earn my freedom out of the arena so I could kill my parents' murderer," he admitted, watching as her eyes widened in shock at his bluntness. "I know how that must sound to you, and I don't blame you one bit for judging me. I'm a heartless murderer—killing's all I've ever known for the past eight years."

He paused, looking at her straight in the eye, searching for signs of her disgust towards him. Instead, all he found was encouragement in her green eyes, imploring him to believe that he could trust her with whatever secrets, telling him that she saw him as no less, that she would accept him. He hadn't opened up to anybody since his parents' death. It'd been far too long, and he just couldn't bear to have to bottle up everything in him anymore. It was _killing_ him. He was only human. He was tired of it all—of the burden he'd been forced to carry with him since he was a boy. He was tired of pretending to be that strong, fearless gladiator everyone thought he was. And above all else, he was just so tired of having to try to keep it together all the time.

"…But I'll have you know _this_—I was only eleven when I had my entire life robbed from me. I had to listen to my father's screams as he was killed…I had to watch with my own eyes as my mother was raped, and as the life left her body…I felt her blood stain my face when _he_ slaughtered her," he choked, tears unknowingly slipping from his eyes—tears he hadn't been able to cry in eight years.

"And I've had to live with guilt of having done _nothing_ to save them. I was a weakling! A stupid, pathetic little coward! I was so _useless _—" His voice cracked as he cried out of his own self-loathing, but he didn't stop. "_God, I know—I know I don't deserve you, Clary, but I can't stand it if you, too, were to—I can't have you leave m—"_

Clary couldn't bear to listen to him any longer. She pulled him towards her, letting him bury his face in her chest as his body racked with painful sobs. She rubbed his back, her other hand threading through his soft, fair curls.

"Shh, shh, Jace, it's okay. I'm here now, and I'm never going to let you go. _I love you. _I'm never going to leave you, I promise," she said, her own tears sliding over her cheeks, and she felt him stiffen. Hesitantly, Clary pulled away, thinking that he didn't want her to comfort him when his warm, calloused hands suddenly cupped her cheeks.

Jace looked at her, his face red from crying and he sniffled. "You love me?" Jace asked her softly, his voice sounded so thick and raw with emotion.

Clary froze. She didn't realize that she had actually said that to him—It had just slipped out of her mouth in the spur of the moment. She didn't even know she felt that way about Jace—that she _loved_ him. Was it really possible that she did love him? They've only known each other for, _more or less_, only a month! But now that the words had left her, Clary knew it was true. She loved Jace, and it wasn't merely because of his amazing looks. No, that wasn't even half the reason why Clary loved him.

She remembered the day at Dumont, with Sebastian, when Jace had taken that brutal whiplashing for her. He had protected her; he'd almost given his life up for her when they hadn't been anything more than acquaintances to each other then. He'd shown her what it meant to be selfless, and she'd fallen in love with him for it. He was one of the very few people in her life who'd shown her that he truly, genuinely cared for her, who made her feel that she was worth something, and not because of the fact that she was a princess—she didn't have to pretend to be anything other than herself when she was around him; so yes, Clary loved Jace for it. There was no going back, no point in denying her love for him anymore. Jace deserved the truth, not her pushing him away from her—not after he'd taken a huge leap and opened up to her about his past.

"Yes," she answered with an unwavering voice.

Jace felt the heavy weight that had been crushing his chest leave him and he smiled at her, tears spilling over his cheeks again. "I love you too, Clary. I love you _so damn much_," he confessed.

Before either of them could comprehend the magnitude of the words they'd said to each other, he pulled her to him and they kissed again—their kisses fiercer and stronger than ever before. Jace poured his every bit of emotion into the single kiss—his pain, his relief, and above all, his love for Clary. And she reciprocated it on every level, matching every iota of emotion and energy with his. When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, he told her breathlessly, "I love you."

Clary wrapped her arms tightly around Jace, feeling his hot breath against her neck as she whispered back to him, "I love you too."

Jace pulled Clary down with him as he lay on his back on the grass, letting her head rest on his heaving chest. He weaved his fingers through her auburn curls gently, a serene smile on his face as she nuzzled her face into his chest and tightened her arms around his waist. They stayed in that position for a long time, allowing themselves to catch their breaths. Right there in that moment, it was almost hard to believe that they had nearly come close to ending their relationship when in truth, it had barely even begun.

When Clary finally shifted her position, her elbows propped up on either side of his head, Jace was taken aback by the stern look she gave him. "Listen to me, Jace. I don't want you blaming yourself for what happened all those years ago. Understand? It wasn't your fault. Regardless of what you think, you were just a little boy; you can't always save the world, Jace," she told him as she lovingly brushed his hair back.

Not knowing how to reply her, Jace could only manage a nod before pulling Clary back down to him, resuming their earlier position. Lying there, safe in each other's embrace, Jace was content, _relieved_, that their feelings were now out in the open, that the love they felt for each other was mutual. _Love_. Jace didn't think that after what had happened eight years ago that he could still be capable of love, much less falling in love. It wasn't until Clary had told him that she loved him that he realized that he'd been in love with her this whole time, too.

Well, maybe he hadn't loved her from the _very_ beginning, but he would be lying if he said that he hadn't felt a strong connection to her the moment they had met. Before, Jace had just been curious about her; he'd wanted to know her—he'd been infatuated by her.

But ever since the night of the whiplashing incident, when she had taken care of him, Jace realized then that he had truly started to fall for her. She'd cared for him when she could have chosen not to. She could have walked away from him and pretended that he didn't exist, but she hadn't. Despite everything, despite him being only a stranger to her then, she kept coming back for him. What was there not to love about a girl who, despite being a princess and despite having a monstrous father, could see the beauty in him that no one else had ever even tried to see? She made him feel like he was worth something, something more than just a skilled gladiator and a prowess in the arena. She made him feel like…a _real_ person. Like he was…Jace.

Just Jace.

Not the broken boy with a broken past. Jace knew it was stupid, but he had never wanted to tell Clary about his past because he was sure that it would be the one thing that would cause her to break things off with him and tell him that he wasn't good enough for her. After all, who could ever love a man with a damaged past like his? But as Jace was learning, Clary always tended to do the opposite of what he usually expected of her.

"The man who killed your parents—is he here, in Idris?" Clary suddenly asked, causing Jace's heart to constrict painfully in his chest at the irony behind her question. Clary sat up straight, looking at Jace expectantly. He bit his lip, nodding the subtlest of nods.

"Do I know him?" she continued to ask, and again, albeit hesitantly, Jace nodded as he began to sit up too.

Clary's eyes burned with rage. "Who is it, Jace? Tell me who it was that destroyed your life, who turned you into a slave. Tell me," she pushed him.

Jace shook his head, wordlessly telling her that it was not open for discussion, and she reluctantly respected his wishes, pulling his head against her shoulder and stroking his hair lovingly.

Inside, Clary was fuming. Who the hell could do that to her Jace? To make an innocent, young boy watch as he cruelly violated his mother and murdered her? If only he could have told her who it was—she would have most definitely give that asshole a piece of her mind and beat the shit out of him. She didn't care how small or weak everyone thought she was. Jace was _hers_, and she would do everything in her power to protect him, just like he would protect her. That was what love was after all, wasn't it? To take care of each other? To protect one another from pain?

Choosing to let go of Jace's past for now, Clary let her face soften as she looked into Jace's eyes. He was looking at her with so much love, so much affection, that she could feel butterflies dancing in her stomach. "You know, I haven't felt this loved by anyone in a long time," she admitted earnestly with a sheepish smile.

The clenching in Jace's chest loosened at Clary's sudden change in subject, and he smirked, "Well that's great because I can't imagine anyone else putting their lips on you and kissing you senseless like I just did."

Clary blushed. "I didn't mean it that way, you asshat," she retorted. In a softer voice she told him, "What I meant was that I've never had anyone to love me for me, despite my flaws—well, besides Jonathan anyway."

She held his gaze firmly. "And I know how you feel, about having to lose the people you loved the most." She cleared her throat, blinking furiously to rid her eyes of her tears; she silently wondered when the hell she was ever going to be able to stop crying—it was so incredibly exhausting to cry all the time.

"I lost my mom three years ago," she told him and Jace gave her a look of shock.

'_Clary's mom was dead?'_

"I know that look," she chuckled softly. "I don't blame you; I never intended to tell you about this. But I thought I owed it to you since you told me about your parents. You see…my mom's death isn't something I've been able to talk to anyone about, not even to Jonathan."

She gulped slowly, controlling her grief. "Losing her was one of the most painful things I've ever been through in my life. She was the closest person to me; she taught me everything I know. When she was _murdered_—" Jace held her hands tightly, an encouraging look on his face. "When she was murdered, she left me with my _father_," she spat.

"And for a while, I just hated her. I resented her for leaving me alone with _him. _He never cared about me, Jace. He never asked me how I was doing, how I was coping, _if I was even coping_. He didn't even cry at my mother's funeral. It was as if nothing happened—he went about his business as usual, planning his stupid games instead of wondering if Jon and I were all right."

"Did you ever find out who killed your mother?" Jace asked.

"No," Clary shook her head. "Father never even bothered for an investigation. He thought it was a waste of time. He told Jon and I that we 'needed to move on' and even if we'd managed to catch the murderer, it wouldn't bring our mother back. Jon and I begged for him to try though—Jon was close to my mom, too—but it only ended up in Father beating us up and telling us that the sooner we get over our mother's death, the better things will be for us," she said spitefully.

Jace bit back his anger at Clary's revelation of Valentine laying his hands on his own children. What kind of a heartless man was he?

"Do you hate him, Clary?" Jace asked, unable to resist himself.

She paused thoughtfully for a long time, tiny creases forming in between her eyebrows. "I—As much as I wanted to hate him or want to hate him, I _don't_ think I could. He's my father, Jace. He's put a roof over my head, and I can't just—" she groaned, putting her face in her hands. "I _can't_ just hate him. I _have to_ believe that somehow his '_good_' will outweigh all the bad that he's done." Her voice came out muffled behind her tiny hands.

Jace nodded, despite Clary not being able to see his response. He was curious to know what Clary meant by Valentine's 'good'—was the demon even capable of any human warmth? Had he ever even shown Clary any ounce of compassion, of love, or of understanding as a father should?

He could see that deep down, Clary was having a hard time believing her own words but he let her be. Still, he admired Clary for trying to defend her father and make up excuses, no matter how pathetic it sounded, for _him_. Valentine didn't deserve a daughter like Clary. Despite all the pain he'd caused his daughter, Clary still, strangely, stood by him.

She was a real enigma to Jace. But knowing this, knowing that Clary was still holding on to that small shred of hope that she could salvage something out of her estranged relationship with her father, Jace knew he couldn't tell her who he really was—that his parents were the Herondales. It would destroy everything they had for each other. The day at that market when they'd first met was enough proof in itself that Clary would trust and vouch for her father's words more than she really should; what good would Jace's claims be against her father? She wouldn't trust him if she knew he was a Herondale.

"Sometimes I wish I could just go back in time to when things weren't so crazy," Clary said wistfully.

"Don't we all?" Jace asked with a sad smile as he interlocked his fingers with hers.

Clary leaned her head against Jace's chest again, sighing softly. "I really miss my mom… and _Luke_," she said, her voice muffled by Jace's shirt.

Jace nudged at Clary's side and she lifted her head from his warm chest. He had an almost sour look on his face and was raising a questioning eyebrow at her. "Oh do tell who this mysterious _Luke_ person is? Was he an old childhood _sweetheart_?" he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm and a hint of jealousy.

Clary's eyes widened at his tiny accusation and she slapped his chest lightly. "EW, NO! Luke's my godfather!" she exclaimed in between her fit of giggles.

Jace's face flushed a little in embarrassment, making Clary laugh harder at him. "Okay, okay. Will you please just stop laughing at me?" he gritted out, his cheeks still tinged with pink.

Clary brushed her lips against Jace's teasingly and she heard him let out a soft growl. "Awwwww…Little Jacey is so cute when he's all jealous and blushing," she said in a mocking tone.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Enough teasing," he said grouchily. "Tell me about Luke, then. What happened to him?" he asked, hoping to divert the attention away from his little embarrassing moment.

Clary's giggles dissipated and a small frown made its way onto her face. "I don't really know what happened to Luke," she said sadly. "The night my mom died, Father said that he left Idris to move to someplace else permanently. He was my mom's best friend so I guess her loss was hard on him that he decided to leave."

She sighed. "I wish he hadn't though. Luke was like a second father to me. He was everything Father wasn't—he was sweet, funny and caring; he always used to get me presents and treats, and he would even read to me at night. When he left, it was like a second blow to me. My mom left me, and then he left me, too. It just made me feel so abandoned and lost. He didn't even come to her funeral, and he didn't even say goodbye to me," she said, another tear escaping her eye. Jace pulled her into his arms again and felt her snuggle into him. "I still miss him, though. Maybe if my father had loved me like Luke or my mom did, I wouldn't miss any of them this badly," she mumbled against his chest.

Jace didn't say anything; he just held her tightly to him, his right hand stroking her hair comfortingly. He felt bad for Clary. He would have never guessed that she had been through that much, and he felt guilty for ever having thought that she was a spoilt brat at times. She'd been through as much shit as he had; maybe that was why they made sense together—that they belonged with each other—because they hadn't had the easiest of lives. He dipped his head down, planting a soft, feather-like kiss on the crown of her head before resting his cheek on it.

"Oh, shoot," Clary muttered suddenly. She pulled away from Jace's embrace and glanced around the meadow with a panicked look, as though they had been caught.

"What?" Jace asked, confused.

"We have to get back soon. Curfew, remember?" she said, getting onto her feet.

Sighing loudly, Jace got up and followed her lead; and for the seventh night in a row, he cursed the time for rolling by too quickly.

* * *

The whole ride back, Jace couldn't help but feel a deep sense of foreboding throbbing in his chest. He didn't know why. The time he had spent with Clary back in the meadow, when they had made their confessions, he thought he had felt a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders.

Now though, he just felt uneasy, like he had this premonition that something terrible was about to happen. But the huge question was, 'What was it?'

As they entered the stables, Jace tried again to shake it off; there was no one around, _as usual_, but why did he feel as though he was being watched?

After securing Wayfarer in his stall, Jace glanced around the stables distractedly, trying to get rid of the nagging thoughts that were plaguing his mind. Imagine his utter surprise when Clary came up to him and hugged his waist from behind.

Jace jumped, and he turned around to face Clary. "Geez, Clary. Don't do that," he chided her.

Clary smirked. "Sorry, I forgot how jumpy my _boyfriend_ could be," she replied smugly.

Jace smiled at her emphasis on the word 'boyfriend'. "Ha-ha. Very funny, Clarissa," he chuckled, leaning down to press his lips to hers. He had intended it to be short and sweet—seeing as he was still very anxious—but Clary had other plans. She tugged at his curls, pulling him down towards her with such force that he very nearly stumbled. Slowly, she licked his lips, asking for entrance—and since it was Clary, how could Jace ever deny her?

They continued kissing fervidly, murmuring sweet words and 'I love yous' against each other lips as they did—until a loud coughing forced them apart.

Jace and Clary sprung apart instantaneously, their faces morphed into complete and utter shock. They turned to the source of their interruption, and Clary internally groaned at the sight of her maid, Izzy.

"Izzy, what are you doing here?" Clary demanded in an almost shrill voice—she had been caught red-handed, and not just her, but Jace too. This was too soon. _Too soon._

Izzy sauntered towards them, a triumphant grin on her face. "I had to confirm my suspicions after you almost knocked me over in your haste to meet your boyfriend. And I was right!" she said smugly.

Jace remained silent; he was scrutinizing Clary's maid—_the black hair, the dark brown eyes, the stubborn chin_… Somehow, now that he had a longer look at her, she seemed so familiar. He just couldn't seem to put his finger on her though.

"Okay, so you were right. Now can you please just keep your mouth shut and leave us alone?" Clary snapped, rubbing her temples in irritation.

"Not until you tell me his name," Izzy replied in a singsong voice.

Izzy could be so incredibly vexing when she managed to prove herself right, Clary thought with much disdain.

"Not bad, Clary. I mean, I knew he was forbidden but I would have never expected for you to actually go for the bad-boy gladiator type. If he wasn't yours, I would have probably jumped—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Isabelle Sophia Lightwood," Clary cut in sharply.

Beside her, Jace tensed, his eyes widened in surprise. _'LIGHTWOOD? SHE'S ALEC'S LITTLE SISTER?' _his mind screamed frantically. He was in deep shit. If Izzy recognized him, he would be dead. What was with all the people from his past suddenly sprouting up out of nowhere and terrorizing his relationship with Clary?

Izzy rolled her eyes. "Geez, Clary, relax. No need to go all 'possessive' on me. Besides, as far as my taste for guys go, I'm only into Simon and I would never betray him like that. Not even for someone as good-looking as your man over here," she said, examining her perfectly manicured fingernails.

"But, seriously though, what's his name?" she harried the couple, snapping her head up to observe Jace properly.

Jace swallowed deeply as Izzy stepped directly in front of him, her brown eyes scanning his face. Beside him, Clary was furiously scowling like the little vixen that she was.

"It's none of your business what my name is," Jace clipped in an icy tone, hoping it would intimidate the black-haired girl.

Izzy, of course, didn't waver; she was much the same as she used to be when they were growing up as children—bossy, demanding, and would never let anyone push her around. Jace remembered a time when he and Alec had derided her and told her that she couldn't train with either of them; it was a day he remembered he had suffered Izzy's wrath—she had kicked him so hard in the groin he couldn't move for hours. He mentally cringed at the memory.

Now here she was standing in front of him, perusing him like he was a book—an ironic simile to use here, of course, since Izzy hated reading books with a passion, Jace recalled. He glared daggers at her, and regretfully, her brown eyes suddenly perked up in recognition.

"Jace?" Izzy asked, her mouth fell open in surprise.

_'SHIT! Shit. Shit. Shit,'_ was the only thought Jace could manage at the moment.

Clary was the first one out of the couple to react, of course. She sidled up to Izzy, her face a mixture of confusion and _jealousy_. "How do you know his name?" she demanded in a crisp tone.

But Izzy wasn't looking at Clary. She had her eyes fixed on Jace's face the whole time. "_Jace. Jace Herondale," _she whispered, and instantly, Jace's world fell apart.

"Jace, what—what is she talking about?" Clary whirled on him, her voice strained as she struggled to hold back her tears.

Jace leveled Izzy with a cold and distant mask. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he growled in a low voice, his eyes not daring to look at Clary's heartbroken face; he knew if he did, he would lose all his resolve and he wouldn't be able to put up with his own pretenses any longer.

To his agony, Izzy started yelling at him, "Don't deny it, Jace! No one else has golden eyes like you do. We've played together when we were children; I know you—you've never lied, so don't start now!"

His fury overtaking him, Jace unknowingly dismissed his act of denial to bear any connection to the Herondales and bit back vehemently, "Don't pretend to be all-knowing and self-righteous, Isabelle Sophia Lightwood. I'm not the same person I once was. That boy _died_ the night Valentine murdered my parents." He glared pointedly at her and she returned him with an equally steely look.

Beside them, Clary watched the entire exchange with a look of pure astonishment and betrayal. Jace was a Herondale? Her father killed his parents? She choked out a sob, pressing her hand against her mouth tightly to control herself from having another meltdown. "You're a _Herondale_?" she rasped out, and Jace and Izzy both turned to look at her.

"Clary," Jace started, his hand reaching out for her.

"DON'T!" she screamed, her tears spilling over eyes like a waterfall. Jace staggered back as though Clary had slapped him in the face, and he looked at her sadly.

"Don't. Don't you dare give me that look, _you_—_YOU_ _LIAR!_" she spat venomously. "You tricked me; you played me for a fool and I believed you! I believed every damned word you said. It turns out everything was just a sad sob story to make me feel sorry for you so that I would open up to you; that's all I ever was to you, right? I was just the needy Morgenstern girl you could toy with to get the information you want out of me—"

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Jace cut her off sharply.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THE TRUTH THEN?" she yelled back. "You kept the fact that you were a Herondale a secret from me! _You don't love me_—"

"DON'T TELL ME HOW I FEEL, CLARY," he told her off, his voice rough, and his golden eyes blazing with ire. They were both breathing heavily by now and Izzy had wisely chosen to leave Jace and Clary alone to sort things out by themselves.

They stared each other down, willing the other to break first. "Fine, I'll admit it, I didn't tell you I was a Herondale, and I never intended to," he finally said in a defeated tone.

Clary opened her mouth to argue but Jace quickly beat her to it. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd be like this! You'd shut me out just because of a stupid fact that I can't control—I'm a Herondale by blood, not because I choose to, and the same can be said for you! So why are you punishing me for this? Why are you pushing me away?"

She looked at him, her face resigned. "Because I _can't_ trust you." Her voice cracked.

Jace walked up to her and cupped her face in his hands. "Yes, you can. You're just telling yourself that because that's what Valentine has taught you to believe all these years," he said, his voice softening. She squirmed away from his touch but he held onto her firm, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"I meant every word I said to you, Clary. I keep secrets but I would never lie; and I never lied when I said that I loved you. I still do. Please, Clary. Please don't punish _us_ because of the blood feud between our parents. That's between them, not us. _Please_. Don't let the mistakes our parents made come in between our love. I love you—please," he pleaded with her urgently but her face remained impassive—she'd given up on them_._

Jace had to try to convince her. He had to win her back somehow. She was all he had and he couldn't lose her, not after the near-blow they'd dodged back at the meadow. What he had in mind was a long shot—and she might hate him even more for it—but there was no other alternative he could think of. _'Please work,_' he begged as he leaned down and claimed her lips with his.

Clary didn't respond to him at first; she forced her lips to purse and remain still and unrelenting. But after a while, her hard will shattered, and she kissed him back with just as much vigor. She kissed him hard, her lips desperate and hungry, while their tongues wrestled with each other, ravaging every corner of each other's mouths. She tugged at his curls roughly, almost to the point of pain, but Jace welcomed it, a growl of pleasure emitting from his throat and he dug his own fingers into the skin at her waist.

That was when Clary's mind caught up with her again and she shoved Jace away from her hard. She looked up at the man she loved with a blank expression, and resisted the urge to crumble as she saw his crestfallen face—he looked so broken, more than he had been at the meadow when he'd told her about his parents.

But she had to end this; it was the only way she could think of to save herself from more hurt in the future. She loved him, but the fact that he lied about who he was had really broke her heart. How could she possibly trust him? He was probably just manipulating her, using her and turning her against her father—

Because _her father_ single-handedly killed his parents and _raped_ his mother—or was that part a lie, too?

How could she possibly put herself up to the risk of having her heart smashed by him just for that small chance that he genuinely loved her?

'_To love is to destroy, Clarissa; and to be loved is to be the one destroyed,'_ her father's voice echoed in her head. Clary used to think that her father was crazy to believe in such a thing—how could anything as beautiful as love possibly destroy someone? Wasn't love supposed to heal you and make you a stronger, better person? But now that she thought of it, her father's words made perfect sense. Loving Jace was only going to destroy him…and her. Their love was forbidden; it would only end in tragedy. She needed to end it, before they got in too deep—she needed to protect her heart.

"You know…even if I didn't know that you were a _Herondale_, none of this would have ever worked out between us," she said flatly, her words piercing Jace's heart like splinters.

"We were _stupid_ to think that we could pursue this little _fantasy_, and I'm sorry I led you on. Maybe now you can finally go back to what you've always planned and avenge your parents, huh? Go ahead and _kill my father_? Because trust me when I say this Jace—when I wake up the next morning, I'm going to forget all this ever happened," she said, her voice surprisingly steely and not betraying any of her real emotions.

She spurred on, keeping the cold mask on her face intact. "Clearly, I was so stupid and naïve; I didn't know the difference between love and an infatuation. There's no possible way for someone to fall in love with another so quickly—I only lusted for you, _nothing more_. I only led this go on so long because I detested the control my father had over my life and I saw you as a perfect opportunity to—"

"PLEASE JUST STOP," he begged her, his aureate eyes glazed over with unshed tears. "Please just stop lying to me. _I know you love me_—"

"_DON'T TELL ME HOW I FEEL_," she threw his words back at him in a harsh screech, but the tears streaming down her face was enough to confirm Jace's suspicions that she was lying to him.

Clary tugged at her disheveled curls roughly in anger, and just as Jace tried to pull her back into his arms, her right hand came up and slapped him bitterly across the cheek. Utterly taken aback, Jace's head snapped to the side, and before he could stop her, she was already running out of the stables and out of his reach.

Jace felt his knees give out and he sank down onto the floor of the stables, his hands in his face and his chest heaving heavily with emotion.

How the hell did one perfect night go perfectly wrong so quickly?

Jace wanted to blame Izzy—it was her fault that Clary even found out that he was a Herondale anyway. Why couldn't have she just kept her mouth shut? He had lost _her_. He had lost the one person he had ever given his whole heart to—and as much as it was Izzy's fault, it was mostly, undoubtedly _his,_ too. He should have stayed away from her from the start. He should have never let himself open up to her and set himself up for the inevitable heartbreak.

It was his fault; it was his own grievous fault.

* * *

**A/N:**

OKAY, shit, please don't hate me or kill me. I know, I know. What the fuck did I just do? But this was planned from the beginning. Clary and Jace's relationship has to have its ups and downs. And since life is not all sunshine and rainbows, it had to happen. I mean, we all knew Jace's identity was always THE big issue in Clace's relationship, and Clary was bound to find out who he was sooner or later. That being said, we also know that their pasts and their parents' is also ANOTHER big issue, so now that they're torn, I'm going to spend the next few chapters shedding the light on that...because there is no future without the past. Fuck it, I'm brain-dead. I have no friggin' idea what I'm saying.

But guys, seriously though, don't hate me. I will fix their relationship, and I promise, when I do, they'll bounce back stronger than ever before.

For now, please review and let me know your thoughts on this chapter, and I'll PM you a snippet of the next chapter as soon as I can. But note, there isn't going to be a Clace scene anytime soon yet.

And I know that some of you may be thinking, 'EW, wtf is Jace being so vulnerable?' Yeah, well, the reason for that is because he's human, and just cos he's vulnerable, it doesn't mean that he's weak. He's been through a lot of shit, so I think it gives him reasonable grounds to be the way that he is right now. Come on, the guy is dealing with all this shit ON HIS OWN.

OKAY, so again please review!

XO!

~N


	12. Chapter 11: Cold Hard Truths

**Author's Note:**

Hey there, guys!:)

Looks like I updated again within less than a month! Haha, but don't get too used to it, because I will be slipping back into my monthly updating schedule after this...the only reason I'm even updating now is because I'm in a two-week break from school—a break that's quickly coming to an end by this weekend! Haha, and I've completely neglected all of my school assignments because I've been so obsessed with writing this story...*ugh, so effing screwed*

But anyway, on with the story! Oh, and my apologies for any pain and heartbreak that I might have caused with the last chapter...and thank you to all who have reviewed the last one for me! I wish I could reply to you guest reviewers personally cos I seriously do appreciate your reviews as well;) Sebastian won't be appearing anytime soon..just not yet...I'll be focusing on Clary and Jace's relationship first and them finding out the truth about their parents' histories etc...and Sebastian will come in much, _much_, later, when you least want him to be there... I understand there's some hate for Izzy cos of what she did in the last chapter, but well, we'll see what she has to say in the NEXT chapter. She's not a bitch, no, no...

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters...while I only own the plot for this story...

* * *

**Chapter 11: Cold Hard Truths**

_ Jace scrunched up his face in pure irritation as he felt something ticklish brushing back and forth against his nose. Without opening his eyes, he swatted the 'thing' away before snuggling further into the warmth that he was currently lying against._

_A warm, tiny hand caressed his curls, soothing him, and he smiled dreamily to himself before leaning into the hand's touch. Just as he began to drift off into sleep, the offending 'thing' returned, tickling his nose yet again. Jace's entire face contorted into an irritated scowl before he swatted violently at the 'thing' and begrudgingly opened his eyes._

_As soon as light flooded his golden orbs, he was met with the most stunning pair of emerald green eyes._

_It was then that he realized he was in the meadow, his head perched on Clary's lap. Instantly, his scowl disappeared as the princess bent down and gave him a soft peck on the lips._

_"What's wrong, Jace? Was something bothering you in your sleep?" she asked him in a mockingly sweet tone as her index finger brushed back and forth against his nose, much like the 'thing' had done to him earlier._

_Jace narrowed his eyes at Clary, though not bothering to remove his head from her lap. "As a matter of fact, yes. I could have sworn it was like some sort of insect that was trying to violate my nose," he replied in his usual sarcastic tone._

_Clary tapped her chin in mock-thought. "Nope, you must have had an extremely vivid dream. I was watching you the whole time and I swear that nothing touched you," she said convincingly._

_Jace folded his arms across his chest, still in his lying position as he looked up at the red-haired princess. "Is that so?"_

_Clary nodded._

_"Well, I guess I just have to take your word for it, then. You, of all people, after all, would never lie to me…would you?" he asked._

_"Never ever, cross my heart," she answered, batting her eyelashes at him innocently._

_Jace nodded, silently detaching himself from Clary as he got up into a sitting position. "Well, that settles it then. I suppose I do tend to have a vivid imagination sometimes," Jace continued, playing along with his smiling girlfriend._

_"Hmm," she murmured absentmindedly as she stretched her arms over her head._

_Without warning, Jace lunged himself at Clary, his large hands seizing her sides as he viciously tickled her. Loud peals of giggles broke from the princess as she tried countlessly in vain to squirm away from the gladiator's hands._

_Before long, his laughter joined hers as they both began rolling around on the grass. It came to a point where Clary was suddenly straddling Jace, her red tresses falling down in a curtain above him as she sat astride his stomach._

_His hands stilled on her waist as they stared, mesmerized, into each other's eyes. Right there in that moment, it was almost as if everything else had been swallowed up, leaving only Jace and Clary behind._

_Slowly, her hands came round to cup his cheeks and she bent down, kissing him so gently, her lips feeling so soft and tender against his. Jace smiled into the kiss before tugging Clary closer to him and deepening the kiss._

_Right there in that moment, they told each other how they felt without even needing to say a word._

And Jace remembered thinking how much he wished they could freeze in time and stay like that forever.

* * *

Jace's eyes fell shut as Alec slammed him down again against the grass. His body was so weak, so lifeless; he couldn't even bother to counter any of Alec's attacks. The whole time they were training, Jace let himself go into defense rather than his usual offense tactic. But even then, his moves were all half-hearted and sloppy—it was quite pathetic, really.

Alec pressed Jace's throat down with his foot—he wasn't going to bother pinning Jace with his full body anymore since his _parabatai_ wasn't even trying to fight back. Putting more pressure onto his hold, Alec watched as Jace's face slowly turned red but his limbs continued to lay still by his sides. He was getting increasingly infuriated with Jace by the second.

Why the hell wasn't he fighting back? Why was he just lying there and letting Alec choke him?

Jace's face continued to turn a deeper shade of crimson with the lack of oxygen flowing through his windpipe, yet, he was still not doing anything to get Alec off of him. Alec was beyond pissed off by then, and he retracted his foot from Jace's throat brusquely, watching as the blonde-haired boy gasped for air. Alec sighed loudly, his cerulean-blue eyes darkening to resemble a tempestuous ocean.

Without warning, Alec grabbed Jace by the front of his shirt and hauled him up roughly, dragging him towards the nearest pillar where he promptly slammed Jace's body hard against it.

Jace groaned and slumped down weakly, wordlessly—not even bothering to ask Alec why he was being unnecessarily aggressive with him. He didn't care, and that only vexed Alec even more as he brutally grabbed Jace by his arms to hold him up.

"That's it, Jace! You've been like this for the past three days and I'm not taking it anymore! What the hell is wrong with you?" Alec roared in Jace's face.

To Alec's surprise, Jace only let out a small whimper, his face looking as though he was about to break down. Alec stared at him confoundedly for a moment—wondering why the hell was Jace acting like that—before his face turned cold again, and he drew his large hand back and slapped Jace hard across the face.

"TALK JACE! What is _fuck_ is the matter with you?" he demanded gruffly.

"Please just stop, Alec. _Please_," Jace begged, his voice a barely audible whisper. He shoved at Alec's chest weakly, and Alec let him go, watching with a startled look as Jace sunk down, his knees drawn up to his chest.

Alec was baffled. Jace had never, _ever,_ used to word 'please' on him or anyone else he knew before. It wasn't like him at all. Jace was cocky, arrogant, and would never, _until now anyway_, plead with anyone for mercy.

Realizing he wasn't going to be able to get anything out of Jace by being violent and hostile towards him, Alec decided to change his methods. Cautiously, he sat down beside his friend, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and asked him in a gentle voice, "You want to tell me what's wrong, Jace?"

Jace looked up at Alec, a blank and tired expression on his visage; his tawny eyes held such an elegiac look that you would have thought that someone close to him had just died.

It was impossible, of course. Everyone Jace loved—his parents, anyway—were long gone. Jace had been alone for eight years; therefore it made no sense for his grief to just suddenly resurface again.

But then, Alec remembered a tiny little detail about a relatively tiny person who was probably the cause of all of Jace's pain. "Is this about Clarissa Morgenstern, Jace?" Alec asked quietly.

The effect of the question was instantaneous and Alec's inkling was confirmed when Jace flinched.

Alec sighed. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from her? No, you just had to be stubborn, didn't you? What the hell were you trying to prove, Jace?" he fired at Jace.

Jace's face finally turned into a cold look. "I wasn't trying to prove anything, Alec. _I love her_," he confessed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I love her, and now she hates me because she knows." His voice was muffled and lined with woe and heartbreak.

"Knows what, Jace?" Alec asked him, his face perplexed. Alec had thought that when Jace first brought up Clary all those weeks ago, it was just some silly momentary obsession that he was having with the princess. He had never expected for him to fall in love with her, not when her father was the one responsible for his parents' deaths, and the reason behind Jace even being a slave in the first place.

"She knows that I'm a _Herondale_," he spat his family name out venomously as though it were a curse.

It _probably_ was, for all Jace knew. His parents had _probably_ done all those things that Clary had told him about the very first day they'd met at the market; they had _probably_ really been vicious backstabbers who had framed Valentine for stealing the kingdom's funds just so that they could overthrow him and take over the throne in Idris—there was really no telling for sure what was the truth anymore. Maybe that was why Jace was the one paying the price for _their mistakes_—why he was the one being punished now.

Jace had never really wanted to admit it, but the seed of doubt that Clary had planted in him on that day had since then grown and manifested into a bud on the verge of blooming. God, he knew how much he was betraying his parents, _his blood_, for even questioning their innocence, for questioning their ability to possess such an audacity to do something as wretched and scandalous as…_that._

But then again, no one was ever perfect, right? Not even his own parents, the people who he'd spent his entire life looking up to—the _Herondales_. No, even they weren't perfect. So _what _was he now? Where did that leave him? Where did he stand? Where would he go from _here_?

"WHAT?" Alec yelled, disbelief and anger in his tone. "How the hell does she even know that? Why did you even tell her that, Jace? What if she told her father about you? Are you trying to get yourself killed by Valentine?"

Jace glared at Alec, his hands clenched into tight fists that his knuckles turned white. "I didn't tell her, Alec! Besides, if she'd told Valentine about me, don't you think I'd already be dead by now?" he snapped.

"Then _how_ the hell did she even find out about it?" Alec countered, ignoring Jace's earlier statement.

Jace's golden eyes darkened in fury and the vein in his neck muscle popped. "Because your stupid sister Isabelle found out who I was and told her!" he yelled.

Alec's face turned white. "Izzy?"

"Yes—_Izzy_," Jace huffed angrily. "When the hell were you going to tell me about your little sister being Clary's maid, huh Alec? This whole time we've been training you've never once let slip any information about your sister or what happened to the rest of your family," he snarled.

"I didn't know what happened to them, Jace," Alec whispered morosely.

Jace looked at Alec in disbelief, his own rage still barely contained. He couldn't take it out on Isabelle, so he might as well let her brother take the hit for her, right? "_Bull-shit_," he sneered scornfully.

Alec's blue eyes reclaimed its fury. "It's true, Jace!" he said defensively. "When Valentine conquered Idris, the first thing he did was to get rid of the people closest to your father—he started with my parents, Robert and Maryse Lightwood, because they were your parents' advisors. And after they took my parents out, they split me up from my siblings—Max stayed with Izzy because he was only two; and since I was 14, they thought the best place to put me was in _here_ to train as a gladiator! I haven't seen them since! I didn't know they worked as servants for the Morgensterns!"

Jace's face softened and he sighed dejectedly. "I'm sorry, Alec. I didn't mean take this out on you. I'm just really _frustrated_," he grumbled. He looked at Alec in the eye. "Izzy ruined everything for me and Clary. We—"

"Did you really think you had a chance with her, Jace?" Alec asked him earnestly. "Even if Izzy never told her who you really were?"

"I didn't think it mattered that she was a princess and I a slave. _We love each other_—we would've been able to figure something out," he stammered.

"You're only saying that because that's what you want yourself to believe," Alec said. "Look, just stop living in denial and get your head out of your ass. Deep down, you know that it would have never worked out. How long did you think you'd be able to hide from her who you really were without breaking? How long do you think you could possibly stand her without having _her_ remind you of Valentine and what he did?"

Jace slammed his fists against the ground agitatedly. "That's the thing, Alec! Whenever I'm with Clary, I don't think about Valentine; I don't think about revenge. It's only Clary—_just Clary_. That's why I even gave our relationship a chance. Because I thought that we could be together without giving a damn about who our parents were; because our feelings for each other were strong enough that none of the shit our parents had ever done in the past would have mattered," Jace argued convincingly.

"And if Valentine found out about you two?" Alec asked skeptically. "You both would be _dead_, Jace. This sort of love—it's forbidden; it would have never ended well. You should probably thank Izzy for saving your ass."

"You're one to talk," Jace muttered bitterly. "'Forbidden love', Alec? Don't try to preach to me against something you're clearly guilty of as well," he said snidely.

Alec's entire body stiffened as his blue eyes began to dart around nervously. "I don't know what—"

"You don't know what I'm talking about?" Jace interrupted, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Let's see—does the name _Magnus Bane_ ring any bells?"

Alec paled at the mention of the doctor. "I'm just his assistant, Jace—you know that," he answered weakly.

"Oh? I have reason to believe there's more to the two of you than you're letting on," he looked at the dark-haired boy pointedly. "I saw you—_both of you_—the night you returned to the cells late; he thought no one else was watching so he kissed you, and you didn't even push him away."

Alec froze. "What? Not going to deny that you're gay, Alec?" Jace taunted.

"That's none of your business, Jace," he said hoarsely.

"And neither is my relationship with Clary any of yours," Jace returned. "You'll do well to remember that, _Alexander_," he said as he got up and left Alec staring after him with a dumbfounded look.

* * *

_Jace was in the Arena Dumont again._

_The sun was beating down on him mercilessly, causing rivers of sweat to trickle down his face. In the middle of the arena, strangely, was a huge bonfire; the flames were licking the piles of wood greedily, adding to the already unbearably torrid heat that hung in the air._

_The horn signaling the start of the match blared throughout Dumont, and instantly, Jace felt his muscles become taut with tension and anticipation. The crowd was cheering his name wildly, their voices galvanizing him to keep his stance poised and steady as the gates holding back his opponent were raised._

_Moments later, his opponent stepped out into the arena, stalking towards Jace confidently_. _He had a muscular build and was slightly bigger than Jace; and while his face was obscured by a helmet, Jace was able to discern the unmistakably cold, malicious charcoal-black eyes piercing through them_—

_Valentine Morgenstern._

_Upon realizing his opponent's identity, the man whom he despised with every fiber of his being, Jace snarled ferociously. His grip on his sword tightened to the point where his nails were digging into his own skin. His anger and hatred coursed through his blood and flared in his veins like the molten lava of a volcano on the verge of an eruption. Jace didn't wait_—

_He immediately lunged forward, raising his sword high up in the air, the polished blade catching the sun's rays and forming a blinding glint. Valentine raised his hands up to shield his eyes from the coruscation, and when he'd finally removed them, Jace's sword was already lodged deeply in his chest and piercing his cold, black heart._

_The fiend gasped sharply, and instantly, his breathing grew labored; it was like watching a fish out of water as it flailed around frantically and gaped in vain for oxygen_—_helpless._

_Valentine Morgenstern was as helpless as the dark patch of red that was beginning to bloom at a rapid rate on his chest._

_Jace yanked the sword out of his foe's body harshly_—_as if he were Arthur releasing Excalibur from its stone. With a callous smirk, he drew his leading foot back, and kicked Valentine hard at the exact spot where he had stabbed him, grinning as the fiend flew backwards and landed directly in the center of the raging flames of the bonfire._

_With a dark chuckle, Jace sauntered towards the inferno coolly, a look of grim satisfaction etched onto his face as Valentine's tormented screams penetrated the air. All around him, the crowd's cheers reverberated through the arena_—_they cheered his name, singing their praises for him, revering him, adulating him for finally ridding them of the demon._

_Yes, this was the culmination, the epicenter of all of his hard work on display_—_the one moment he'd spent the last eight years building himself up for_—_his enemy perishing, burning in Earth's own version of hell._

_Just as Jace was about to turn to leave, all of a sudden, Valentine began to change_. _Like a shape-shifting demon, Valentine evolved, his voice changing, his body recasting into another's shape, and taking on another's form._

_His deep, thunderous voice soon began to be replaced by a girl's high-pitched screams, and his tall, muscular body morphed to resemble a petite teenage girl's form_—

_A girl with curly red hair that matched the inferno, and emerald green eyes that shone like spring_—

_Clary._

_Her tiny body writhed and convulsed violently in pain, her loud screams piercing and shattering the very depths of Jace's soul as she helplessly called out his name, and pleaded for him to save her._

_But Jace could do nothing. He couldn't will his feet forward to pull her out of the flames. He couldn't do anything but stand there and watch_—

_He watched, frozen and wide-eyed, as the love of his life slowly burned away, her beautiful, flawlessly freckled ivory skin now marring with blisters and bloody red scars, slowly disintegrating into a pile of gray ashes…_

* * *

"CLARY!" Jace screamed as he bolted awake, his face coated with a thick sheen of sweat. He rubbed his hands shakily over his face, sobbing silently as images of Clary burning on the bonfire replayed in his mind.

Feeling increasingly agitated, Jace slammed his head backwards against the wall, hoping that the act would help cease the terrible assault of images that were beginning to sear a hole in his brain.

'_What a cruel nightmare! A cruel, cruel nightmare!'_

Jace started as a warm hand came down on his shoulder—the gesture meant to offer him solace and comfort. He removed his trembling hands away from his face tentatively, his lifeless tawny orbs meeting Michael's concerned brown ones.

"Jace, are you all right?" Michael asked him, frown lines etched onto his face.

"I don't know," Jace answered tremulously, his voice thick from sleep and crying.

Michael seated himself comfortably next to his gladiator, allowing silence to fill the room as Jace tried to regain his composure. Once Jace's breathing had, in some measure, slowed down to normal, Michael finally spoke up. "Jace, we need to talk. About you," he said in a hushed tone.

Jace sniffled. "I'm not sure I want to," he mumbled, his voice still quavering with the residue of emotion that had afflicted him.

"This is not open for a debate, Jace. I want you to be honest with me. I need answers from you, and I need them _now_," Michael said sternly.

Jace glowered at him. "You may be my master, but you don't own me. You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm not some spineless, little wuss that you can boss around, so let that stick in your head," he returned sharply.

Michael sighed wearily. "This conversation is about your parents as much as it is about the Morgensterns," he said gravely, causing Jace to perk up.

He stared at Michael disbelievingly for a moment, his golden eyes piqued with curiosity, before he masked his face again to look distant and emotionless. "What is there to talk about my parents? They're dead. It doesn't matter to me anymore. Clary has already told me about what happened between them and Valentine," he said stoically; memories of the day he'd first met Clary in the market flooded his mind and he shuddered at the pain it brought him. "I know I swore to avenge my parents and I will, but I don't wish to think about them anymore," Jace said in a final tone.

Michael squeezed Jace's shoulder lightly, leveling him with a serious look. "What did the princess tell you, Jace?" he asked in a measured tone.

Jace laughed dryly. "Why the hell do you care? If you knew something, you should have said it eight years ago. It's a little too late now," he answered petulantly.

"Because the truth matters, _Shadowhunter._ Are you willing to accept information about something you know could very well be a lie? Are you willing to throw everything you are away and hate your parents_—your family name—_just because of a stupid, little girl?" Michael raised his voice; his patience was wearing thin with Jace's stubbornness.

Jace glared at Michael. "Firstly, I don't hate my parents; I just don't believe that they're as innocent as they're made out to be—there's a difference. And secondly, don't you ever talk about _her_ like that," he warned in a dangerously calm voice. "You don't know anything about her—"

"And you do, Jace?" Michael retaliated.

"I know enough," he defended, his glower unwavering.

Michael let out a long sigh, averting his gaze to look at a random stain on the wall opposite them. "But you don't know the truth about your parents still," he said jadedly. "Whatever this Clary told you, it might have very well been a lie. Everything she knows comes from Valentine, and as far I know, Valentine is a liar. He's relentless; he would lie to anyone, his own children included, just to save his own skin."

"Oh, because you know Valentine so well?" Jace remarked wryly.

Michael looked at Jace straight in the eye. "I know Valentine as much as I know Stephen and Celine Herondale because I—I grew up with them," he told Jace hesitantly, causing the golden-eyed boy to look at him incredulously. "Don't give me that look, Jace. Do you want to hear this or not?" Michael snapped sternly.

Jace shrugged nonchalantly and nodded once. He didn't actually care, but Michael was being persistent; the sooner he was done, the sooner he'd leave Jace alone with his thoughts. He didn't need anyone here. He didn't _need_ anyone here but Clary.

"This isn't going to be easy for me to tell you, Jace, but I want you to promise that you won't interrupt me until I'm absolutely done. Even if you get mad at me and want to rip my head off, you'll learn to control yourself and save it for when I've finished explaining everything, understand?" Michael told him in an authoritative tone.

Jace was puzzled, especially by Michael's second statement—_why the hell would Jace lose his temper at him and want to kill him?_ Realizing he would only get his answer by listening to what Michael had to say, he begrudgingly complied with his wishes.

Inhaling a deep breath, Michael began, "When I was growing up in Idris, my family, the Waylands, had always been close to the Morgenstern family. Valentine and I met when we were only toddlers; we grew up as friends—best friends—until his parents adopted your father, Stephen Herondale. We were five years old at the time, and Stephen was only about three or four. It was when your father came into the picture that Valentine and I started to drift apart, and I later became Stephen's best friend instead. Valentine was jealous at first, but he later moved on and found a confidante in Lucian Graymark."

Michael paused to look at Jace, who wore a baffled look on his face. He smirked at the boy. "With me so far, Jace?"

Jace nodded, a little unsurely, but let Michael continue. "Valentine was always jealous of Stephen. You see, despite Stephen being Marcus and Seraphina Morgenstern's adopted son, he was very much loved by them as though he were their own flesh and blood, and that made Valentine feel very unnerved and threatened. He was afraid that his parents loved Stephen more than they did him and would crown him as king of Idris instead. It didn't help either that Stephen was always seen as the better son—he was always filial, compliant, unlike Valentine who was brash, reckless and often rebelled against his parents.

"When he was 19, Valentine started travelling to Alicante to watch the gladiator games in secret. It was there that he met with the ruling family of Alicante, the Verlacs, and forged a strong relationship with them. He was so amazed by the games, the Verlacs managed to convince him into investing in them, in exchange for their hospitality and offer of help to Valentine when he needed it.

"Around that same time, Valentine was also seeing your mother, Celine, who was about 15 years old at the time. But Celine had never really loved Valentine—he treated her as though she was his possession, and your mother had never liked that. Stephen, on the other hand, on the occasion that Valentine brought Celine over to the palace for dinner with their family, respected Celine and never bossed her around. Since Valentine was often away in Alicante for the games, it gave Celine the opportunity to meet up with Stephen without his knowledge; she would often confide in your father, and before long, they fell in love. Valentine was enraged when he found out that Celine had cheated on him with Stephen but he wasn't willing to just give her up to his adopted brother. They had fought over Celine, but Stephen won, of course. And from then onwards, it marked the beginning of the bad blood between the two.

"Not too long later, Stephen found out about Valentine's involvement in the games in Alicante—Valentine had been laundering money from the kingdom's funds in support of the games, leaving Idris' economy in peril. So Stephen had no choice but to report Valentine's activities to their parents.

"Marcus and Seraphina Morgenstern were so incensed and disappointed in their son Valentine, they threw him out, stripping him of all his ties to the family and his initial right to the throne in Idris; Valentine was exiled, but as promised, Alicante offered him sanctuary. Due to his passion for the games, the Verlacs allowed Valentine to assist in managing them. Valentine had a relatively good life there; he had his friend Lucian Graymark by his side, and two months after he had settled in at Alicante, he met Jocelyn Fairchild and married her and they had their firstborn, Jonathan Christopher, shortly after.

"Two years later, word spread that Marcus Morgenstern was dying of an illness, and that Stephen Herondale had been announced as his successor to the throne. When Marcus finally fell and Stephen took over after a year of being married to Celine, Valentine's hatred for Stephen was reignited. He sought revenge, but he was cunning; he let them believe that he had faded into obscurity and had no plans of returning to Idris, when in actual fact, he was studiously conspiring with the Verlacs."

"Wait!" Jace interrupted, restlessness plain on his face. "How the hell do you even know about Valentine's life in Alicante? Weren't you my father's general in Idris?" he asked exasperatedly.

Michael glared at the boy and promptly smacked him on the back of his head. "I thought I made it clear to you to not interrupt me when I'm explaining!" he growled.

Jace rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he said, not really meaning it. "Carry on then, _sir_," he drawled sarcastically.

Michael sighed in irritation. "Good. Now, where was I?" he asked aloud, fingering his chin pensively. As his face lit up with memory, he composed himself again, his features turning into a somber and rueful expression.

"Despite my loyalties to Stephen, I was curious about the games in Alicante. I had heard so many great things about it. It had grown so much over the years, and I just couldn't resist. So, one day, I ventured into Alicante, and watched the games as a spectator, intending it to be a one-time thing. I had never expected to be so enthralled by it; and from that day on, I started visiting Alicante more often."

Michael paused and looked at Jace nervously. "Jace, you may not remember this, but when you were born, Stephen made your godfather; I watched you grow up until you were four years old—that was when I finally decided to resign as your father's general and move to Alicante. After that, I lost contact with your father, and I stopped seeing you," he said warily, watching as the boy tensed in shock upon the revelation of their relationship—that there was more history between the two of them than Jace had initially thought.

"I don't expect you to not hate me, Jace, or to think that I had abandoned you; and I'm sorry about that," he said with a heavy sigh. "And, I'm even more sorry about what I'm about to tell you," he told him with a dismal glance.

"For the first six years that I lived in Alicante, life was more or less peaceful. I lived averagely, working as a blacksmith, but at the same time, I also made money by taking part in wagers during the games. It was a terrible mistake, of course.I became addicted to gambling; it was all right at first, but after a while, I started to lose money. I was at my wits' end, but I couldn't stop. I turned to loan sharks, and I started accumulating a lot of debts. I got into a lot of shit. That was when I _accidentally_ ran into…" Michael swallowed, a shuddering breath escaping him. "…_Valentine_."

Jace's jaw set and he balled his hands into tight fists, but he remained quiet. Michael took his silence as a sign to keep going, though he was expecting the worst from Jace.

But there was no turning back now; Michael needed to tell Jace the truth—the truth about everything. He'd kept it from him long enough, and the boy deserved to know. He owed it that much to his friends, to Jace's parents, to not only clear their family name, but also to let Jace about what _he_ had done—because the boy deserved so much better than _this,_ he realized that now.

"Valentine, as it turns out, had eyes and ears in Alicante, and had known for a while about my life there. He had been spying on me, waiting for the right time and opportunity to approach me. When I ran into peril because of my stupid addiction, he gave me an ultimatum—he offered to help me resolve my money troubles and to reward me handsomely, at the price of me joining him in his crusade to overthrow Stephen and reclaim the throne in Idris. And I—_I was desperate so I_—_I accepted it_," Michael admitted, flinching when he saw a muscle at the side of Jace's mouth twitch and his body starting to shake with barely suppressed anger.

Michael's voice turned shaky and his words began coming out of his mouth in stammers. "S-since I had been a m-member of Idris' army for a re-relatively long time," he gulped, "Valentine s-saw me as—as useful ad-addition to his p-plan. He—he had me—m-mapping out the def-defense system in Idris and coming up with a—a b-battle s-strategy for th-the invasion. Jace, I'm sor—"

Michael didn't have time to finish his apology when Jace was already on him, shouting a string of hate-filled obscenities and punching him furiously.

Having heard the scuffle, the guards barged into Jace's cell minutes later and pulled Jace off of Michael, binding his hands and feet together with a set of handcuffs each before dumping him onto the floor. Jace squirmed and writhed on the floor hysterically throughout his apoplectic fit, screaming profanities at the guards to remove the manacles off of him so that he could finish Michael off.

Michael looked terrible—his entire face was bloodied and nearly disfigured; his nose was broken and both of his eyes were nearly sewn shut.

The guards offered to help Michael up but he refused, weakly telling them to leave him alone with Jace, seeing as the gladiator had already been put into metal restraints. Ever so slowly, he dragged himself over to Jace's still writhing body. He braced himself into an almost seating position, using the wall as a support to hold his weight up.

"Jace," he croaked.

_"Don't you dare call me by my name you fucking son of a bitch!"_ Jace yelled murderously. _"You're the fucking reason my parents are dead! You're the fucking reason I'm even in this fucking mess in the first place! I hate you! I'll fucking kill you!"_

"Jace, I'm sorry—"

_"You can keep your fucking apologies to yourself! I'll never forgive you, you filthy, backstabbing piece of shit! My parents trusted you and you betrayed them! You should be fucking dead! NOW LET ME GO!"_

One of the guards reentered the room, a syringe in his hand. Against Jace's violent protests, he inserted the needle into his arm and injected him with the sedative drug. After a while, the gladiator's livid yells and movements ceased as he finally succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

**A/N:**

Thoughts on this chapter?:)

So Jace's parents are completely innocent, after all...but I guess we've all known that from the start. Michael...ugh, Michael...and to think that I actually kind of liked him in the beginning of this story...but anyway, do let me know your thoughts on this!

Ooh, and what are your thoughts on Alec's conversation with Jace? Jace's nightmare? The Clace flashback scene in the beginning?

Review for a snippet of the next chapter! I'm just telling you, it's going to be a Clace scene... and before that, there'll be a scene on Jace &amp; Izzy's confrontation. Muahahaha...

OKAY, so now that there story part of this is over, OMG, do you guys know that two nights ago, at 5-freaking-am, when I was writing one of the much, much later chapters, my Word Doc went all-bitch on me and crashed? I nearly threw my MacBook and went into tears cos it didn't save some of my progress, which I worked so hard on, and I had to retype everything that I lost! Can you feel my pain and anguish? It still hurts. Hurts. I'm heavily traumatized.

Anyway, you guys don't have to worry about me not finishing this story, because somewhere along the way, I actually cheated and wrote the epilogue already...haha, and you would have thought that writers usually write chapters in their chronological order...yeah, no, I'm weird. Ideas and words just popped into my head so I wrote them out...lately, all I've been doing is having mental conversations with myself and playing out the characters' dialogue in my head for this story...it's driving me insane.

OKAY, rant over!

Please review, thank you, love you!:)

XO!

~N


	13. Chapter 12: Surreptitious Meetings

**Author's Note:**

Hi, guys!:) As usual, thanks for all the reviews in the last chapter, and thank you to all those who are still reading this story and who have followed/favorited it;)

This is a long kind-of-a-filler chapter, so I'll spare you guys the details.

But before we delve in, I kind of want to inform you guys about some issues with regards to my story, which has much to do about its **timeline** etc. **(Please bear with me on this)**

Well, I've debated much about which era I want my story to be set in, and have come to the conclusion that the current** timeline for the story** is around the early 1700s (or to be more specific, based on everything I worked out in Valentine's journal, it's in **late 1708**). I know initially I said its between 1500s to 1600s, but I decided to shift it to a much later era for technical reasons, like due to the usage of vocabulary, but even then, some of the words used here might still not fit in this era...like the words 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend', and even the word 'bullshit', which I personally think is _bullshit_. KILL ME NOW! Grr.

With that being said, I'd like to be upfront and honest with you guys and let you know that there are plenty of historical discrepancies/inaccuracies with my story; for example, the most stark and obvious one is that _gladiators no longer exist during this historical time frame—_fun fact: gladiator games were ended in 423 AD.

Total mood-killer, I know.

Also, there are plenty of inaccuracies such as with:

**(1)** the descriptions of clothes (I'm pretty sure about this one, especially for the male clothes...but seriously, can you imagine Valentine wearing a toga or those fancy King Henry-like outfits? Like ever? So, let's just accept that the elite men in Idris wear fancy suits...kinda like the modern-era kind of suits. As for the women, somewhere along the way, Clary actually wore leather pants...no woman wears pants in this era but I've tried to justify that when I re-edited the earlier chapters...But anyway, just take it as: since they're living in a fictional country called Idris, they do/**can** dress up like that.);

**(2) **the use of terms like 'catatonic/catatonia' and 'Post-traumatic stress disorder' in chapters 8 &amp; 9 (PTSD was only officially coined in the mid-1970s; that being said, I've edited those chapters and replaced PTSD with the word 'distress' or 'shock' or just 'trauma');

**(3) **the existence of items like the hypodermic syringe which was mentioned in the last chapter (hypodermic syringes have existed since 1656, but back then, they were experimented on dogs...but anyway, let's just presume that syringes do exist in Idris);

**(4) **the existence of baked goods like cupcakes and croissants in the previous chapters (cupcakes first existed in around 1796, and croissants somewhere in the 19th century—I've replaced croissants with sourdough bread in _chapter 2: coming home_, but I'm going to be keeping cupcakes cos I like them *biased*)...

Yeah, yeah, I just gave you guys a dose of history lessons which some of you might not even care about...-.-"

**Anyway, please take all of these details with a pinch of salt with relevance to the timeline of actual history, and note that this is fanfic, so yep, there will be plenty of such flaws made by yours truly (as much as I'm freakishly OCD and would have loved to be accurate). You can take it as that although this is an all-human story, it's set in an alternate universe, so it variates from actual history... therefore, things that might not have existed during that time CAN exist in this story...plus, Idris isn't even a real country, haha** I'm sorry that I'm a horrible writer in this respect, but please just suspend your disbelief...(Sorry for another long A/N but I thought that it was important to address this)

OK, so now that that's off my chest, let's get on with the story!:)

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters, while I own the plot:)

* * *

**Chapter 12: Surreptitious Meetings**

Jace sighed wearily as he absentmindedly polished the saddles. He was avoiding having to tend to Wayfarer as much as possible, for the brown horse reminded him too much of Clary.

Jace knew he was being stupid, moping around like a heartbroken girl, but he couldn't help it. Clary wasn't just any girl; she had given him more love and affection than anyone had ever given him in the last eight years…all despite knowing that he was just a mere gladiator. Didn't _that_ at least mean something?

And besides, if Clary didn't return his feelings, if _she_ didn't love _him_ as much as he did her, then shouldn't she have reported him to Valentine by now and have him arrested? It's been four days and there has been absolutely no sign at all of Valentine knowing about his existence.

If she didn't love him, then why was she harboring his identity, his secrets?

Jace shook his head, trying to rid himself of any thoughts about Clary when the bitter memory of his conversation with Michael last night invaded his mind. Instantly, his face turned into a scowl and he fisted the polishing cloth in his hand tightly.

Jace felt incredibly betrayed. This whole _bloody_ time, Michael Wayland had been partially responsible for his parents' deaths? How could _he_ after all these years still be able to live with himself? And an even more bewildering thought, _how_ could he have possibly been able to live _with_ Jace, to use him shamelessly as if he'd done him no wrong? Had the man no conscience? It was one thing that he'd betrayed Stephen, _his own best friend_, all because of money, because of the stupid games. Remorse—if he'd felt any at all—hadn't stopped him from _using _Jace, and for all the same reason: _the fucking games!_

_'What a heinous, shallow bastard,'_ Jace thought with contempt.

After last night, when Jace had beaten Michael to a pulp, he had upped and left Jace in Idris like the coward that he was, leaving him to the hands of Valentine's minions, afraid that Jace would kill him on sight. He didn't even leave his so-called "prized" gladiator with so much as a letter to explain things to him, and that only made Jace feel even more hurt and betrayed.

Despite everything, Michael was still Jace's godfather, wasn't he? He was _supposed to_ look after Jace. And yet, he had abandoned him, _again_, as though Jace was nothing more than a worthless toy. Was that all he really was to Michael? The man he had looked to as a father figure in the last eight years had so easily ditched him, just to save his own skin. It was ironic, really, how Michael had criticized Valentine, calling him 'relentless' and a 'liar', when in truth, he was no better than the fiend himself. After everything Jace had done for him, all the bruises and injuries from all his training sessions and fights in the arena, Jace had thought that he would have at _least_ meant something special to Michael.

But alas, his so-called _godfather_ just had to take it all away and throw it in his face, as though everything was nothing more than a big, cruel joke. And yet...strangely enough, as much as Jace wanted to kill Michael for his betrayal, he couldn't help but _want_ _him_ _around_, too. He couldn't explain it, and quite frankly, he might never even admit it out loud, but Jace had always longed for someone to care for him, and to love him like a _son_. Was that too much to ask for?

Maybe it was still from the pain of his parents' loss that had instilled such a vulnerable desire in him, Jace silently reasoned. But then again, wanting Michael as a father was a pretty fucked up idea. The man was seriously twisted; if Jace had meant anything to him as a godson, then shouldn't he be raising him like a normal father would, instead of throwing him out to the wolves?

Jace felt the anger starting to build in him again and he flung the polishing cloth in his hand across the stables with a frustrated grunt. This all getting too much for him to handle. It was all just too fucked up, and Jace was _sick_ of it. Out of all the billions of people in this world, why did he have to be the one to suffer such a cruel fate?

As Jace continued to silently fume, he was broken out of his contemplation by the sound of a young woman clearing her throat.

He swiveled around, for a moment hoping that it was Clary, only to be met with the disappointing sight of Isabelle instead. She was gnawing on her fingernails nervously, her brown eyes shifty and overwhelmed with guilt.

Jace gave her a black look, not even bothering to pretend that he was going to be civil with her, not after everything she had caused.

"What the fuck do you want, Izzy?" he snarled at her in an acidic tone, satisfied when he saw her flinch.

"I want to apologize, Jace," she answered in a small voice, sounding so meek and scared, unlike the Isabelle he knew.

"I don't give two fucks about your apology. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like you to leave me alone. I have duties to carry out here and you're nothing more than bloody nuisance. Go stick your nose somewhere else," Jace said, his voice sharp and colder than ice.

"Please, Jace…just hear me out," Izzy pleaded with him as she cautiously approached him.

Jace didn't reply. He folded his arms across his chest and sent Izzy a hostile glare that said she had 30 seconds to speak up before he sent her out of the stables by force.

"Clary misses you, Jace," she said, and Jace felt his heart flounder at the sound of her name. He clenched his eyes shut, pushing down the pain it brought him.

"Clary doesn't want me, Izzy. She made it clear to me that night, when you so _generously_ revealed to her that I was a Herondale," he said, his words biting though his tone was flat.

Izzy winced at the mention of the incident the other night. It was her fault that Jace and Clary had even broken up in the first place, and she had never felt more burdened with guilt. Clary hadn't blamed her or chastised her for wrecking her relationship with Jace, but Izzy could tell that deep down, she wanted to. But instead of succumbing to that desire, Clary had resorted to putting up walls around her, refusing to talk to anybody unless it was her father, and even then, speaking seemed like such a painful act on her part.

"Yes, she does, Jace," Izzy said earnestly. "Despite everything, despite all the hurtful things that she might have said to you, you know that she loves you. The only reason she said any of that was because of all the lies that her father had fed her with since she was young about your family. She was just looking to protect her own heart from being smashed into bits by you."

Jace tensed in anger. "I would never do that to her!" he hurled defensively, raising his voice.

"I know that, Jace! But she doesn't know that!" Izzy bit back, her tone matching his. She inhaled a deep breath to calm her nerves before sighing softly. "Listen, why don't you try explaining things to her?" she suggested in a softer and much gentler voice.

Jace let out a mirthless laugh. "Yes, that's a great suggestion, Izzy. Why don't I just try that? After all, Clary isn't as stubborn as a mule. And besides, it's not like anyone would mind at all if I just stroll into the palace and barge into Clary's room unannounced," he said in a mockingly cheery tone.

Izzy huffed before rolling her eyes at him in irritation. "You really are thick, aren't you, Jace?" she said dryly. "Don't you remember anything about the secret passages in the castle?"

At Izzy's reminder, Jace's eyes widened as he felt his memory stir, and he took a step back, reconsidering her proposition. He remembered that when he was seven, Stephen had ordered for the construction of secret passageways beneath the castle; they were designed specifically for emergency escapes during enemy sieges.

Michael had left Idris by the time they had started constructing them; surely Valentine had no clue they even existed?

They had been cleverly concealed, Jace recalled. His father had designed it perfectly so that each of the entrances to the passageway was hidden behind the fireplaces in the various rooms of the castle, Jace's old room included. And they all led to one place—_the stables_.

Against his will, his mind conjured up memories of the night of Valentine's attack on Idris. When Valentine's troops had invaded the castle, Jace and his mother had stayed behind instead of using the passageways for the sole purpose they were built, he realized belatedly.

_Why?_

Was it all because that in the flurry of Valentine's assault, they had panicked and forgotten that the tunnels even existed? Or was because of his father—because they loved him too much to leave him behind?

_'Herondales stick together,'_ his mother's voice whispered in his mind, and Jace blinked away tears at the recollection.

If they had somehow managed to escape that night, would their lives have turned out to be like this? Would his mother still be alive? Would he still have been forced into this sickening life, of becoming a gladiator? And if not, would he and Clary have even met?

"Jace?" Izzy's voice broke through his thoughts again.

"Hmm?" he asked, his mind still afar.

Izzy gave him an earnest and almost-sad smile. "You and Clary are so much alike. You're always disappearing into your own minds; it's annoying, really," she laughed.

Jace returned her smile dolefully. "I know," he simply said.

"Do you remember how to get into the passages?" she asked.

Instinctively, Jace glanced at Wayfarer's stall where he _just_ remembered the entrance to the secret passages was located. Camouflaged as a part of the concrete-tiled floor, it was practically undetectable, especially amongst the piles of hay that lay scattered about the floor.

His father had been meticulous to a fault—one could not simply pry open the trapdoor by force; the passages could only be accessed by activating a lever that had been disguised as a rusty iron handle, obscured amongst the intricate crisscross-patterned carvings on the wall.

"I remember," Jace replied distractedly, a distant look in his amber eyes as he slowly trudged towards the Wayfarer's stall—the horse that used to belong to him but now to Clary.

Was it a sign?

_'God, Jace, you're drawing too many implications from a horse. It's just a coincidence that Wayfarer became Clary's. You can't seriously believe that fate tied you two through a horse,'_ the stupid anonymous voice in his head chided him.

But then, out of the 20 other horses in the stables, how did Clary end up with Wayfarer?

Jace shook his head; that was irrelevant for him to be thinking about right now.

"Wait, Iz, I don't even know where Clary's room is," he realized aloud. "I can't just suddenly materialize out of a random fireplace in a random room!"

Izzy gave him a devilish smirk. "Oh, trust me, Jace. You know where her room is," she said cryptically, earning a cocked eyebrow from Jace.

"Am I supposed to know what the hell that means?" he asked grouchily, earning another eyeroll from Izzy.

"Your old room, Jace Herondale," she said, causing Jace's eyes to widen in surprise.

That was just way too much of a coincidence. Clary not only owned his old horse but his old room, too? Out of the many, many rooms in the castle, she picked his?

"My room?" Jace asked disbelievingly, still barely recovering from his shock.

"Tell me about it," Izzy returned nonchalantly. "When she first moved into the palace, her father let her pick out her own room, and low and behold, she picked yours! Strange girl, really…it's not like your room had anything interesting in it. It was all white and bare," she commented as she absentmindedly picked at her own fingernails.

Jace narrowed his eyes at her. "Nobody cares about your opinion, Izzy," he said as he deftly unlatched the bolts to Wayfarer's stall.

Swinging the door open, Jace entered the stall gracefully before securing the door behind him again. Wayfarer greeted Jace happily, coming up to nuzzle against him. "I missed you, too, buddy," he said to the brown horse who replied him with a friendly neigh.

With a brief pat to Wayfarer's head, he kneeled down against the hay-infested concrete floor, trying to make out where the trapdoor was.

Izzy stood by the entrance of the stall, leaning her forearms against the door as she watched Jace, a subtle look of affection and curiosity in her brown eyes. She noticed how Jace was subconsciously biting on the inside of his cheek, an old habit of his that alerted her to his nervousness, but at the same time, showed that he was deep in thought.

Jace brushed a portion of the hay away from the concrete floor where he was the certain the trapdoor was located before getting up and heading towards the wall where the rusty iron handle—the lever—was concealed amongst the crisscross-shaped carvings.

With a deep breath, he twisted the lever down gently, his heart drumming in his chest as he was met with the sound of the trapdoor shifting downwards before sliding to the side to reveal the entrance to the secret passages.

Jace smirked at Izzy, who had a reminiscent look on her face. He knew what she was thinking about; he remembered a time when he and the Lightwood siblings used to play hide-and-seek in the secret passages. Stephen hadn't minded at all; he had thought that it was a good idea for Jace to get acquainted with the passages so that he knew his way around it.

"Here, Jace," Izzy said to him, handing him an oil lamp so that he could navigate his way around the dark tunnels.

Jace retrieved the lamp from her gratefully, pausing for a second before pulling Izzy into an unexpected hug.

Izzy gasped in surprise, before returning the hug with as much force as she could muster. She blinked away tears from her eyes. "I've really missed you, Jace. This whole time, I thought you were dead. I never meant to say those things to you the other night. I was shocked, and then I just got angry—I lost my parents and Alec, and then _you_—you've always been like one of my brothers to me and I just felt so betrayed and hurt when you refused to acknowledge any of that. But above all else, I'm _so_ sorry I ruined things for you and Clary. I didn't mean to be such a thoughtless bitch—"

"Shh, it's all right, Iz," Jace cut in, feeling his heart soften at Izzy's apology. "Clary was bound to find out sooner or later. I was kidding myself when I thought that I could hide it from her forever. If anything, I ruined it for myself, but I'm going to fix it the best I can," he said, pulling away from the hug and planting a soft, brotherly kiss on Izzy's forehead.

"Good luck, Jace," Izzy wished him as he started towards the entrance.

Jace turned, sparing a small smile at Izzy. "And just so you know, Alec's perfectly fine," he added, instantly causing Izzy's dark brown eyes to turn watery at the mention of her older brother. Her brother was alive. _He was alive._

"He's been with me at Dumont—a gladiator; and a good one at that, too," Jace explained, chuckling lightly at the memory of the brawl they had on the very first day he'd arrived at the mess hall.

"Don't worry, Iz, _our family_ will be back together again soon. I'm going to fix this—I'm going to fix _everything_," he said with utmost conviction, and Izzy gave him an encouraging and hopeful smile in return.

With a final wink at his almost-sister, Jace lowered himself down into the square-shaped hole that was the entrance of the secret passages, landing steadily on his feet on the cobbled floor.

Once the gladiator had disappeared into the tunnels, the trapdoor shifted again to become part of the concrete tiles, and then, all traces of evidence of the existence of the secret passages vanished from sight.

* * *

Clary lay on her side amongst the tangled bed sheets, staring out of the window blankly.

Rain was pelting down in heavy torrents, making it hard to distinguish anything out in the open. Angry streaks of lightning flashed from afar, accompanied only seconds later by the deafening roar of thunder.

Clary shuddered, wrapping the thick blankets around her tightly.

It was cold—_bitterly cold._

Clary couldn't remember the last time it had rained this heavily. Actually, come to think of it, she couldn't remember Idris being showered by rain at all since Jace's arrival for the games a month ago.

_Jace._

Clary's lips quivered at the thought of his name; she had done nothing but miss her gladiator terribly.

She missed his face, his nose, his cheekbones, his mouth, his lips, and above all, his eyes—those warm golden eyes that always seemed to sparkle when he looked at her; those warm golden eyes that always, without fail, _warmed_ her own heart, filling her and making her feel full and alive; making her feel _loved_ and_ treasured_. She missed running her hands through his soft, luscious golden-blonde curls; she missed his touch, his lips when they pressed against hers. She missed his laugh, his velvety voice that always seemed to soothe the depths of her own darkened soul and send sparks of electricity flowing through her.

God, she missed everything about him; she missed _being_ with him.

Despite knowing who Jace really was, Clary would never bring herself to betray him to her father. She just couldn't; she _wouldn't_ do that to him. Jace was, and would always be, her secret, and _hers alone._

Sighing, Clary tossed and turned fitfully in her bed, her hands in her face as she shook her head. It still baffled her how much she was in love with Jace. _A month._ They had only known each other for a month, and yet, he'd left such a deep impact on her. How was any of this even possible?

Before Jace, Clary had never felt that much dependency on anyone before. She'd never actually 'needed' anyone that much to fill the void in her heart, and for a long time, she hadn't minded it at all. Though she had never had the perfect childhood, she had always been 'perfectly content'—or so she thought—with the way that she was raised to live her life. She had her brother, Simon, Magnus, Izzy and little Max—and back then, she'd believed that having them around had been…sufficient; that she never needed anyone else. But now, Clary wasn't so sure.

Ever since the night of her breakup with Jace, that _void_ seemed that much bigger, _prominent_, as though a festering disease had rooted itself inside her body and was eating away at her heart, leaving her with nothing more than a massive, aching hole—a hole that she'd thought had been mended when she had been together with Jace. It had left her questioning herself over and over again, pondering over whether or not she had done the right thing by ending their relationship—by leaving Jace.

At that time, Clary was fairly _certain_ that it was; she couldn't possibly be with him knowing what his parents had done to her father. Admittedly, she wasn't particularly fond of her father, but that was just beside the point.

What if Jace had lied about loving her? What if he had only been manipulating her, using her to get information about her father, so that he could get revenge on him, _on her entire family?_

Clary didn't want to be used by Jace; she was done with being naïve and being so trusting of others.

That was her weakness, Clary realized. She was too kind, often trying to see the good in others—that was what her father often chastised her for. He had told her countless times that her love and compassion for others would be her downfall, that it made her subject to people stepping all over her, using her for their own selfish means.

Clary had thought that when her father had first said _that_ that he was just being condescending and heartless. But now—_now_ she knew that her father had probably meant her well. After all, he had been betrayed before, and by his own adopted brother, no less. As a father, he was probably just looking out for her so that she wouldn't have to experience the same cruel fate as him. No father would ever want his own child to suffer..._right?_

Sure, Valentine was as cold and brutal as any _abnormal_ parent could be, but perhaps, it was the only way he knew how to act, to show her that he cared, and to show her that he only held her best interests at heart.

And to think, that she had to go through all this heartbreak with Jace just to realize that her father had been _protecting_ her this whole time.

_'To love is to destroy'_—who better to understand the meaning behind those words than her own father?

Valentine had loved Celine, and she had destroyed his heart when she had betrayed him for another man.

Clary couldn't imagine being in love with Jace and then having him to leave her for another woman after he had gotten what he wanted. She did the right thing, breaking up with him…_right_?

But then, why did it hurt so much?

_'In time…it'll get better in time. It's only been four days…these things take time to heal,'_ she tried coaxing herself, but, deep down, Clary knew she doubted it.

She loved Jace far too much to just move on from him and to forget him just like that. He wasn't just some momentary fling or a distraction, or an escape from her father. Jace meant so much more to her than any of that.

Even if she did marry another man—which she most likely would in two months' time at her father's behest—Clary didn't think that she would ever be capable of giving him her whole heart, because in truth, her heart was no longer her own; her heart belonged to only one man—to Jace, and _only_ to Jace. Any other man she would marry—a stranger—could only hope to claim her body, but never her heart, and never her soul.

Clary sighed, pushing the thought away from her mind. She didn't need to burden herself with thinking about her arranged marriage just yet. Her father could plan her entire wedding by himself for all she cared. Her opinions had never mattered to him anyway, she thought, feeling even more depressed.

Rolling over onto her side again, Clary continued to stare openly into the heavy rain, all the while, her mind helplessly drifted back to Jace. She rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms, subconsciously wondering over how her golden gladiator was faring.

Was he miserable and moping around like she was? Was he feeling _cold_ like she was? He must be, with the meager amount of clothing that he had on; Clary didn't think that they provided him with any blankets at the cells either.

_'He must be freezing,'_ she couldn't help but think worriedly when all of sudden, bittersweet realization struck her—

Jace was probably working in the stables right now, which, in other words, meant that he wasn't that far away from her.

Knowing that tiny bit of information made Clary's heart clench with longing even more. She wished she could run to Jace, to have him hold her in his arms and tell her that he loved her; to have him soothe her and take away her pain.

_'You pushed him away. He did tell you that he loved you but you were too selfish to listen to him. You broke his heart…and your own,'_ her own conscience rebuked her, and she felt a stray tear leaving her eye.

Why couldn't have Jace been a different person entirely? Why couldn't he just be a prince from another kingdom? Why couldn't he be anyone else but a Herondale?

Herondale.

_'Why? Why should it even matter if Jace were a Herondale? Why such a big fuss over something as miniscule as a name? A name is just a name. It isn't anything tangible, anything that can be touched or felt!' _

Clary buried her face in her pillow, shaking her head again furiously to dispel the disconcerting thoughts from her mind. She needed _something_—something to calm her, to ease her of the pain, to numb it.

An idea whizzed through Clary's head and she sat up from her bed slowly, reaching over to her bedside table. She pulled open the top drawer and retrieved the tiny toy soldier that lay there—the toy soldier that she believed might have been Jace's.

Clary held it tightly in her little fist, bringing it close to her chest where her heart was beating before slowly lying down again against the covers. As she continued to hold the toy, cradling it lovingly against her chest, her mind flashed back to the time when she had first moved into the Idrisian palace from Alicante.

Her father had moved to Idris two years prior to deal with the management of the kingdom since the overthrowing of the Herondales, and at that time, Clary had only been ten years old. Upon her arrival, her father had told her that she was allowed to choose any of the rooms in the castle for herself, and coincidentally, she had picked the one in which she resided in now.

Back then, Clary hadn't thought much about the room—it had been completely bland and white, and had contained only the barest of essentials, yet, strangely, she found herself completely drawn to it. As she was exploring the room, a little stray object underneath the bed had caught her eye. Being the curious ten-year-old that she was, Clary had crawled underneath the bed to retrieve the trinket, and that was when she'd realized that it was a tiny toy soldier.

Though it had been covered in dust then, Clary had taken the time and effort to meticulously clean the toy soldier. Carved out of wood, it had a slightly sloppy paintjob—as if it were the work of a child's.

To others, it might seem like a worthless piece of junk, but to Clary, the toy soldier was far more valuable than any piece of jewelry that her father could ever offer to her. So without breathing a word of her discovery, ten-year-old Clary had kept the toy with her ever since.

Her mind brought back to the present, Clary wondered if Jace had made the tiny toy soldier himself. It made the toy seem that much more valuable to her, and she brought it up to her lips to kiss it gently, feeling warmed and comforted that she had something of Jace's.

She knew she had to move on from her golden gladiator soon, but for now, she just wanted a little bit of him to hold on to. She didn't want to let go just yet.

With the toy soldier wrapped in her hand, Clary slowly drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Inside the secret passageways, it was dark and musty.

Jace brought the oil lamp up higher in his hand to shine the light onto the cobbled pathway. He had been in there for quite some time now—probably close to 20 minutes, he reckoned.

Navigating through the passageways wasn't as easy as he had thought. He only had a faint recollection of where each of the tunnels led to; but luckily for him, he had finally managed to find the secret door he had been looking for—the one hidden behind the fireplace in Clary's—_and his old_—bedroom.

It was unmistakable; after all, when his father had first introduced him to the secret passageways, Jace himself had marked the door with a white chalk so that he could easily pinpoint the location of his room.

Biting his lip, Jace held his breath as his hand found the lever. He pulled it down tentatively, his hand shaking slightly, as the secret door opened on cue with a soft grumble, sliding to the side to reveal the opening into the room.

Abandoning the oil lamp, Jace crawled in through the fireplace quietly, pausing at the hearth to reach for the other lever concealed within the firebox. He twisted it, making sure to obscure the secret door from sight, and then, once he had finally crawled out of the fireplace, he hesitantly got onto his feet, his amber eyes darting around wildly before they finally adjusted to the darkness of the room.

As soon as they'd refocused, his golden eyes immediately landed on Clary. She was asleep on her bed—_his old bed_—in a curled up position, thick layers of blankets thrown over her small frame to keep her warm.

With a silent, deep intake of air into his lungs, Jace made his way towards Clary, his boots treading lightly and unhurriedly against the hardwood floor. Once he had reached the bedside table, Jace halted, his breath catching in his throat as he was treated to a better view of his beautiful sleeping princess—

She was lying down on her side facing him; her fiery-red hair lay fanned out across her pillow, with a few strands covering her delicate face. Her chest was rising and falling at a slow, rhythmic pace, and there was an unmistakable rapid eye movement beneath her eyelids—a clear indication that she was dreaming.

As Jace continued to watch Clary, entranced by the state of peacefulness that she was in, she began to snuggle her face adorably into her pillow—as if she were cuddling with it—before her lips twitched upwards into a small smile.

At that, Jace couldn't help but smile a little to himself as he curiously wondered over what she was dreaming about. Then, to his surprise, she let out a soft whisper of a name, _his_ name—"Jace"—and he bit down hard on his bottom lip to withhold a gasp from escaping him.

Clary was dreaming about him, Jace thought happily, a giant grin on his face.

But before he could get ahead of himself, Clary's eyelids began to flutter, and then all of a sudden, her emerald green eyes were staring directly into his aureate ones.

* * *

Clary's eyes widened in shock and she bolted up sharply in her bed, the blankets falling from her body. The tiny toy soldier that she had clutched in her hand during her sleep fell amongst the bed sheets as she edged backwards, her body leaning flushed against the headboard.

Clary gave Jace a look of pure astonishment. How long had he been standing there watching her sleep?

Unintentionally, Jace's eyes began raking over Clary's body. She was wearing a long, white satin nightgown that showed off the skin on her arms and collarbone area.

_'Hmm…so much of her milky skin on display,' _Jace mused, unable to help his slightly perverted thoughts.

Noticing Jace's leer, Clary grabbed at the blankets again to cover herself up. "Jace," she hissed. "What the hell are you doing here?" she asked in a raspy voice. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see him, but she knew that she couldn't be with him—_they couldn't be together_.

"Clary, I—I, uh," he stammered. "I needed to see you. To talk to you," he said, somewhat unsurely.

Clary sighed, her eyes avoiding his. "You're not supposed to be here, Jace. We're _over_. There's nothing more to say," she said stoically.

Unconsciously, Jace stepped closer to her bed and sat down on the side that had been occupied by Clary earlier. "Don't say that, Clary. I—You—" Furrowing his eyebrows together, he fought to string together a coherent sentence. "You don't have to say anything you don't want to. Just hear me out," Jace finally said.

Clary gave him a forced hard look, and Jace added in a desperate tone, "Please."

Instantly, Clary's eyes softened and she nodded, pursing her lips together into a straight line.

Jace let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and adjusted himself more comfortably on the bed, though careful to mind his distance away from Clary.

"The day we met at the market, the first time we met, you told me about your father and my parents—what happened between them years ago; Clary, you need to know—whatever your father has told you to believe, they're not true," he said carefully.

Clary remained silent, and Jace took that as an encouragement to explain the truth to her. "Clary, my parents were innocent. Your father really did steal the kingdom's funds to sponsor the games in Alicante; that's why my father reported his actions to his parents. My mother—my mother used to be courted by your father, but she never had any real feelings for him; he was brutal and harsh to her, that's why she left him to be with my father."

Clary sent Jace a dubious and somewhat angry look. "So you're telling me, that you came all this way here just to tell me that my father is a liar?" She scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. "I don't see the reason why my own father would lie to me. I'm his blood, _his kin_. He's not the world's most perfect father, but he _wouldn't_ lie to me. If anything, he's just trying to _protect_ me from people like _you_," she snapped, though in the back of her mind, the words tasted like a bitter lie on her tongue.

"Clary, I know you have a hard time trusting me—"

"Damn right I do," she cut in.

"—But I'm not lying, I promise," he said pleadingly.

Clary's glare didn't falter. "Jace, I have no reason to believe you," she said coldly.

Jace sighed, a look of sorrow and defeat on his face. "You're right. I haven't exactly given you a reason to believe in anything I say," he said dejectedly.

Unable to help himself, he reached out and gripped her hand in his. "But Clary, if I mean anything to you,_ anything at all_, then you'd at least do me a favor by finding out the truth for yourself. And I don't mean by asking your father; I mean, _really_ looking for evidence about your father's past activities. Please," he beseeched her again.

Clary retracted her hand from Jace's and he felt his heart plummet. Then, to his surprise, her eyes softened and she gave him an infinitesimal nod. "I make no promises, but I'll…I'll try," she said softly.

Jace smiled. "That's all I'm asking for," he replied gratefully.

Clary's eyes widened a little and she gave him a flabbergasted look. "Wait, Jace. How did you get in here?" she asked him in a panic-stricken voice.

Jace smirked. "Secret passageways," he said, as though the answer was obvious.

Clary's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"The fireplace over there," Jace said, pointing to the fireplace where he had come in, "It's one of the many secret doors that lead to the underground passageways my father had built. They all lead to one main exit, or entrance, however you see it—the stables."

Clary's mouth fell agape and she uttered a simple, "Oh."

Jace chuckled at her reaction. "I believe your father doesn't even have a clue of its existence," he said, humor laced in his voice.

Meanwhile, Clary continued to stare at the fireplace unblinkingly, as though she was having a really hard time grasping the fact that this whole time, there had been a secret door in her fireplace.

"This used to be my bedroom, you know," Jace told her, breaking the silence.

Clary's eyes finally snapped back to Jace's and to his surprise, she smiled at him sheepishly. "I kind of figured that out myself earlier," she said softly, a light blush creeping onto her cheeks.

"Oh? How'd you find out?" Jace asked, an eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

Clary shifted her gaze to her bed sheets, and she retrieved the tiny toy soldier that had been lying amongst the creases on her sheets between them the entire time. She lifted it up carefully so Jace could see it.

"I found this when I first moved into your room when I was ten. I didn't know your parents had a son until _now_. I had assumed then that it had belonged to one of the servants' children. But since no one had asked about it, I'd kept it for myself. It belongs to you, doesn't it?" she asked him with a bright twinkle in her emerald eyes.

Jace nodded, fingering the toy with a reminiscent look on his face. "I made it myself. Well, my father helped a little, but it was mostly me," he said proudly.

"I figured. The paintjob on this little toy is just so sloppy that it couldn't have possibly been the work of an adult or a professional," she said with a joking smile, and for a moment, it was almost as if nothing bad had ever come in between them.

Jace smiled at her in return, and then unconsciously, his eyes drifted over to the floor, to the exact spot where Valentine had killed his mother eight years ago.

He froze. Memories of the cursed night flashed right before his eyes, and suddenly Jace was his eleven-year-old self again.

"Jace? What's wrong?" Clary asked him with a concerned look as she noticed the sudden tension in Jace's body. She placed her hand on the side of his face, tapping his cheek lightly. "Jace?"

"_Mommy, mommy, please don't leave me_," he whimpered in a small voice as his body began to shake and tears began to simultaneously stream down his cheeks.

Clary was shocked, to say the least, at Jace's sudden breakdown. She got onto her knees in front of him, trying to get him to look at her. Cupping both his cheeks in her tiny hands, she called him by his name repeatedly, but he was still refusing to look at her; his body was still shaking with silent sobs and he was repeatedly calling out for his mother.

Feeling herself nearing her wits' end, Clary bent down and kissed Jace forcefully on the lips, hoping that it would wake him up from whatever nightmare he was having.

* * *

Jace didn't know what was happening. One moment he was talking to Clary, and then the next thing he knew, he'd blacked out. Then, just as he'd blinked open his eyes again, he found Clary's lips on his, her kisses hard and forceful—_urgent_.

Jace had yearned for her kisses since the night they'd broken up; it was the one of the many things that he had missed the most about Clary. Feeling her lips on his again, he felt as though the fire in him had been reignited—he felt _alive_ again.

Without hesitating, Jace kissed her back, loving how their lips moved against each other so perfectly, like a well-rehearsed dance. His fingers curiously explored her sides, his touch careful and as light as a skilled artist's paintbrush's strokes—an odd simile to use in this case, since Clary was supposedly the artist between the two. Gently, Jace opened Clary's mouth with his, and he slipped his tongue in, tasting her. Their paces slowed down, their tongues massaging against each other's languidly, yet, sensually at the same time.

As their kisses grew deeper, Clary's soft, tiny hands moved at their own accord, caressing Jace's muscular arms and his shoulders, and then his neck, before her own fingers finally locked themselves in his hair, just like they always would when they kissed.

All too soon, they broke apart for air, but Jace wasn't about to stop there; he knew there might not be another chance for him to kiss Clary again. He dipped his head down, resting it against her shoulder as he trailed gentle, open-mouth kisses down her neck. Clary let out a surprised gasp, but subconsciously tilted her head backwards anyway to give Jace more access.

He nibbled gently on the curve where her shoulder met her neck, causing Clary to inadvertently let out a small moan of pleasure. Jace smiled against her skin before retracing his path and planting a final chaste kiss on the vulnerable spot of her neck where her pulse was drumming, and then finally, against his will, he drew himself away from her.

As they sat, their faces inches away from each other, Jace realized that they were both breathing heavily—more so than all the other previous times they'd kissed—and their eyes were clouded with the unmistakable look of both longing and lust.

"I love you, Clary. I hope you know that. I hope you know no matter what happens, my feelings for you will never change," he told her as he threaded his fingers through hers and brought her hand up to his lips.

"I—I love you, too, Jace," Clary said hesitantly, causing his golden eyes to light up with a luminous glow—_with hope_.

"But we can't be together. We just can't. I'm getting married the day after the games, remember? And anyway, what you said the other day, to Izzy—it's all true isn't it? My father was the one who killed your parents?" she asked, and he responded to her question with a dismal nod.

"That's one of the reasons why I can't be with you. How can you possibly love me or look at me without even thinking about what my father's done to you and to your parents? I just can't—" She ripped her fingers away from his and turned away from him.

"Clary," he called her. "Clary, look at me," he said, pleading with her to face him. With a quivering lip, she turned around and lifted her chin to look at him; her eyes were shining with tears again and Jace felt his heart twinge.

"Regardless of who you are, who _we_ are, my feelings for you will never change. You are not your father—you know that. You have his genes, but so what? That doesn't define who you are, and it shouldn't dictate your decisions of whether or not you want to be with me. You didn't kill my parents, so you shouldn't feel guilty for what Valentine did," he said assertively.

"I still don't know, Jace. All of this is just confusing me," Clary said in an exasperated voice. "I still don't know the whole truth. I want to believe you but at the same time, I don't. It's bad enough knowing that my father murdered your parents; I'm not sure I want to believe the rest of the things you claimed he's done. I'm not sure I want to believe that he had really sabotaged his own chances of inheriting the throne by stealing money from his own father's kingdom just for the stupid games. I want to believe that my father is a _good_ man in his own way, that even though he killed your parents, he had a _good reason_ for it," she said.

Jace felt his blood boil in anger at Clary's statement. "'_Good reason_?' What could possibly be a '_good reason'_ to justify his actions of murdering my parents?" he snarled, causing Clary to wince.

"Fine, let's say my father did frame Valentine and stole the throne from him, and my mother did leave him for my father because he'd wooed her with riches. But put yourself in my shoes, Clary. How would you feel if you had to watch your own mother being raped by another man? How would you feel if you had to witness your own mother getting slaughtered right before your very eyes?" Jace's voice was hard and angry, and Clary could tell that he was obviously struggling to maintain his volume.

She pictured herself and Jace with their roles reversed, and instantly, tears began to prick her eyes.

At least she had her father and her brother. At least she hadn't been there to witness her mother when she was murdered. Jace? Jace had no one left. And not to mention, it was her father's fault that Jace was now a gladiator.

He'd been put through the worst shit possible. How could she possibly be so heartless, so cruel to Jace?

Clary opened her mouth to apologize when Jace held his hand up to stop her. "No. Save it, Clary. I don't want to hear it. You know I love you, but I'm not ready to forgive you for saying that. Find out the truth for yourself. And when you're ready to move past this, ready to love me without having any of this interfering with our relationship, you know where to find me," Jace said with a wounded look.

"But let me make this clear to you so that there are no more secrets between us—before the games is over, whether you're with me or you're not, whether you'll hate me for it or you don't, _I will kill your father_," he said, the flames of determination burning in his amber eyes.

Clary gaped, feeling a lump burning in her throat. Not because it grieved her to know that Jace wanted to kill her father—she had had her suspicions about it all along, and Jace had only merely confirmed it. She was more likely angry with herself, for lying to herself, for hurting Jace, and for pushing her love for him away.

Before she could stop him, Jace quickly got up and headed for the fireplace. Without so much as a final glance at Clary, he entered the secret passages again, feeling his heart only a tad lighter than it had been before.

He had made his decision, and now, that only left Clary.

* * *

**A/N:**

Clary is giving me an aneurysm with her internal conflict over Valentine and Jace... BUT, in her defense, which child would ever want to believe that her father and only living parent is evil even though it's pretty obvious that he is?

I know it seems as if Clary is being in denial, but I think that her upbringing would warrant such a conflict out of her. Again, she's not trying to be a bitch to Jace; Clary is afraid of having her heart broken because she hasn't exactly had an easy life either...although we can all admit that Jace's life is much, much worse... Oh yeah, aren't you guys pissed off that Michael abandoned Jace? Bloody idiot, I tell you.

Anyways, what are your thoughts on:

1) Jace's confrontation with Izzy? Nah, did you guys really think Izzy would be that mean to sabotage Jace's relationship with Clary?

2) The secret passages? They'll be damn useful, I'll tell you that.

3) Clary having Jace's old bedroom? Kinda creepy since Celine was raped and killed in Jace's bedroom, but again, as the horrible writer that I am, I'm not going to care that much about that. So sue me!

4) The highlight in this chapter, which is the Clace scene? Hehe, I couldn't help but add a kiss there...

Alrightie guys, so please review, and lemme know your thoughts on anything:)

Next two chapters won't have Jace in it, sadly:( The next one will mainly center on Clary and Jonathan, and there's a short breakfast scene with Clary, Jon and Valentine in the beginning. Whoopee. Valentine's a real _sweetheart_ at breakfast...*ahem sarcasm*

Oh, and um, Clary won't be marrying Sebastian, in case anyone is wondering...I'm sorry if anyone wanted to see that happen, but going with that direction will just clash completely with what I have in store for the future...oh, and just to add, in case anyone's wondering, Idris is currently two months away from the games! And as for the fanfic, well, there's about ten more chapters left? Yup. Patience if you guys wanna see Jace go at it with Valentine...(that sounded a little wrong). I'm still planning how I'm going to write the final fight scenes so it'll take a long time. Geez, I swear, I ramble non-stop so I'll shut up now.

p.s. I've re-edited all of the earlier chapters...you guys might not see much differences I suppose because they're mainly minor changes...but they're there:)

All right! THX! Love you guys, and see you in another month's time!

XO!

~N


	14. Chapter 13: A Sibling-Conspiracy

**Author's Note:**

Hi, guys!:) Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I especially appreciate those who took the time to write those long reviews; I'm really hoping that you guys will continue to do that!:) On with the story. I'll save the rest of the A/N for the end.

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 13: A Sibling-Conspiracy**

"Clarissa, stop playing with your food before I lose my temper and throw you out of this dining hall," Valentine warned his daughter in a venomous voice as he continued to devour his breakfast.

Clary looked up at her father and stared at him, _really stared at him_. Not that she was trying to be unnecessarily defiant or rude, but she was trying to see if she could find the answers she had been searching for just by looking at her father's face. Clary knew that she loved Jace, and that she was being extremely stubborn and unfair to him, but she didn't want to just accept that her father was a completely ruthless man. Everyone deserves a chance, to be given the benefit of the doubt…_right?_

As the thought crossed her mind for the umpteenth time, Clary nearly scoffed aloud at herself.

Who was she kidding? Why was she continuing to lead herself into believing all this bullshit, letting herself live in all this stupid denial, when in truth, she was nothing short of disgusted with her father? For God's sake, even if Stephen and Celine Herondale had betrayed him, what right did her father have to kill them and to rape Jace's mother?

Unwittingly, she began scowling at the white-haired king, and unfortunately for her, that was when he chose to look up at her.

"Wipe that look off your face, Clarissa, before I slap it off you myself," he growled, his black eyes glinting with barely repressed anger.

Not wanting to draw his unnecessary ire, Clary uttered a quiet apology before looking down at her own plate with a blank and stony expression. Her scrambled eggs and bacon were barely touched and undoubtedly getting cold.

Sighing silently, she absentmindedly shoved the food around her plate again with her fork, her mind ruminating over how it must be like to be her father. The man was so cold and uncaring all the time; he was always frowning, scowling or smirking at her deviously, as though he knew something she didn't—which Clary supposed was true. He had always been so secretive, and now that she thought of it, manipulative as well.

In all honesty, just being in the same room as her father, to have his black eyes bore unforgiving holes into her, was enough to make Clary's blood run cold. For as long as she could remember, her father had never once looked at her with love and affection as a father should, even as she had been nothing more than a young, innocent child. He had always been strict, patronizing, straight-to-the-point, and…_ruthless_.

Clary clenched her fork, closing her eyes tightly as she recalled a time, when she had only been five years old; when she'd, in her father's cold words, "intruded" him in his study in Alicante. Back then, she had only wanted to show him a picture she'd drawn of their family—a picture, which her mother had greatly commended her for, she might add—when her father had scowled at her and ripped her drawing into shreds before promptly whipping her small body with his belt. 10 unforgiving times.

_Yes._ A five-year-old stripped, then whipped by her own father for committing a miniscule 'transgression'. She remembered his harsh words, how he'd bellowed that _Art_—he'd spat the word out with so much scorn—was _nothing more than a waste of time_, that she, a _petty_ and _hopeless_ child should have instead devoted her time to learning how to be a good princess, so that in future she may be fortunate enough to turn out even a fraction of a "proper" queen. As if a _five-year-old_ was supposed to understand what was expected of her. As if a _five-year-old _even deserved to have such preposterous expectations imposed on her.

Frowning deeply, Clary remembered how her father had thrown her frail, little body out of his office immediately after her punishment, not caring that she had welts and bruises on her back, not even bothering to call for a nurse to tend to her. _That_ had been the first of the many other times she'd been whipped. And all other times for petty, unreasonable reasons, too.

A soft kick from underneath the table snapped Clary out of her deep thoughts. Barely containing an irritable scowl, she looked up at her brother Jonathan, who nowadays always seemed to look so serious and worried, unlike the joking and carefree brother she had grown to be so accustomed to. He gave her a questioning look, his green eyes silently conveying to her that they were going to have a talk about _her_ afterwards.

Clary rolled her eyes at him. _'Great, just great,'_ she thought in annoyance before stabbing a piece of bacon.

"Clarissa, Jonathan, I have a very important announcement to make," Valentine said in his usual deep, commanding voice.

With heavy reluctance, both siblings looked up at their father in unison as the man called for their attention, their faces carrying equally emotionless looks. After all, that was what their father had taught them, to never show emotions for they, to quote him, made them_ "_weak", "predictable", and_ God forbid_, "vulnerable".

Valentine cleared his throat, his hands smoothing down the lapels of his expensively pressed velvet suit—a gesture, that Clary couldn't help but realize, was done out of self-indulgence, that attested to her father's arrogance. "King Sebastian of Alicante has invited our family to his coronation ceremony in Alicante tonight," he announced with a delighted smirk.

As soon as she registered the words, Clary felt the blood rush from her face_. Sebastian? Her family? Alicante? Tonight?_ She diced the words in her head, her fork trembling furiously in her hand.

_No!_ She didn't want to go, Clary wanted to scream. She didn't want to see that scoundrel of a _man_—if he could even call himself that—ever again. Not after what had happened the last time she'd met him. Not after he'd lain his hands on her. Not after he'd tortured _her_ Jace and had very nearly killed him. She couldn't bring herself to do it. She _wouldn't._

Feeling herself overcome with panic, Clary turned her gaze towards Jonathan, hoping desperately for him to be able to detect her feelings of unease, to alleviate her anxiety. Her brother's jaw was tensed, and his green eyes were glowing with anger as they stared unwaveringly into his father's eyes.

"He was crowned king of Alicante two months ago. Why is he only having his ceremony tonight?" Jonathan asked in between gritted teeth. He was holding the fork in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Valentine gave Jonathan a pointed look. "I would have expected you to know better, Jonathan. Sebastian's father had only passed away two months ago; they were mourning his loss, and therefore, it would not have been appropriate to carry out a coronation ceremony then. Surely _you_ should understand the need to respect a dead king. If_ I_ happened to die tomorrow, would you have a coronation ceremony immediately after my funeral?" he asked him sharply, but Jonathan didn't faze. He was glaring back at his father with just as much intensity.

"Don't give me that lie, Father," Jonathan spat. "I know what you've been up to. Sebastian told me everything the day he visited Idris. You don't intend to let me inherit the throne, so don't even pretend that I would," he growled back at him in an equally acidic tone.

Clary flinched, her gaze shifting between her father and her brother. What did Jonathan even mean by that? Was that why he had been acting so strange lately? He had been avoiding her most of the time and was often away from the palace doing God knows what.

"Is that so, Jonathan? Just out of pure…_curiosity_, what _did _Sebastian tell you?" their father prodded him with a sly grin.

"Everything you obviously already know, _dear_ _Father_," Jonathan answered cynically. "I don't need to waste my time or breath telling you things that you're already well aware of. Everything you ever told Clarissa and I were a lie. _You_ are nothing more than a common fraud," he sneered with obvious resentment.

Before any of them could even react, Valentine had already risen from his seat, a look of pure lividity on his face. He shot forward with a ferocious growl, his large hand seizing the scruff of Jonathan's neck as he tugged him up to his feet, knocking over his chair and a trail of cutleries onto the floor. With his free hand, he pummeled Jonathan in the face, causing the latter's head to whip backwards sharply from the impact. When Jonathan regained his stance, his face remained undaunted, though there was a steady trickle of blood from his nose.

"You would do well to remember your place, Jonathan. Don't you dare talk back to me that way ever again or I will not hesitate to disown you," he threatened before shoving Jonathan away from him forcefully.

With a final heated staredown between him and his father, Jonathan then pivoted sharply on his heel and stormed out of the dining hall, not even bothering to veil his temper as he slammed the doors behind him shut.

Not wanting to stay behind and face the residue of her father's wrath, Clary immediately stood up from her seat, bursting through the doors as she ran after her brother.

"Jon! Jon!" Clary called after her brother but he continued walking away from her at a brisk pace, not even bothering to acknowledge that he'd heard his sister's voice.

Clary stopped, her eyes narrowed in anger at her brother. "JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER MORGENSTERN!" she shouted at him.

Finally, Jonathan stopped in his tracks and he slowly turned around to face his sister. The anger from his face slowly dissolved and he was left looking at her with an expression that she recognized to be sorrow and…_guilt_. What was he even feeling guilty about?

Feeling her anger dissipate and replaced with the need to comfort her brother, Clary walked up to him and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. She felt him stiffen at first before he sighed quietly and put his own arms around her waist.

"I'm so sorry, Clare-bear," he whispered remorsefully as he hugged his sister back.

Clary removed her head from her brother's chest and gave him a reassuring smile. The blood was still gushing out from his nose and was now trailing a crimson path down to the front of his shirt.

Clary grimaced. "We need to talk about this…after I clean you up. Come on," she said, tugging her brother by his arm as she led him to her bedroom.

* * *

The siblings sat in awkward silence on Clary's bed, neither wanting to be the first to initiate a conversation with the other.

Clary was nervously gnawing on the inside of her cheek while Jonathan was tapping his foot against the hardwood floor in restless agitation. Upon reaching Clary's room, she had promptly nursed her brother's injured nose, and thankfully, it had stopped bleeding by now.

From the corner of her eye, Clary watched her brother as he gingerly touched his nose, his face pulling into a small grimace as he did. So it still hurt, Clary realized, unsure of what else she could do.

Well, maybe she could call Magnus over, Clary contemplated the option in her head. But then...she can't imagine that the doctor would be too happy about being summoned over just to deal with a nearly-broken nose.

Clary mentally sighed, shaking her distracted mind off of Jonathan's nose-condition. Not that she didn't care about her brother, she just wished that he could just get his say over and done with. He was the one who'd wanted to have this conversation with her earlier and now he was just going to sit there and play dumb with her?

She wasn't going to be the first one to talk if that's what he was planning, Clary stubbornly decided as she folded her arms across her chest, mimicking Jonathan's defensive pose.

As the silence stretched on, the tension in the air grew so thick that one could easily cut it with a knife. Finally, Clary could stand it no longer, and unbeknownst to her, neither could Jonathan, and they both turned to each other at the same time.

"What's going on with you?" they asked each other in unison.

Jonathan's eyes widened in surprise at their sudden speech synchronization while Clary only narrowed her eyes at her brother in irritation.

"Oh, no, no, no! I asked you first!" she snapped.

"Well, I'm the older brother here so I call the shots! You go first!" Jonathan retorted.

"_Jonathan_—"

"_Clarissa_," he mimicked her tone.

Clary growled at her brother's use of her full first name. "Don't call me Clarissa," she snarled at him in annoyance.

"Well, two can play this game here, Clary. Don't call me Jonathan," he retaliated.

"Fine! _Jon_…" She drawled her brother's name out.

"Better! See—"

"Enough stalling, Jon," Clary interrupted sharply. "What's going on with you? What did you mean when you told Father that Sebastian told you 'everything'? And hell, what is going on with you lately? You've been avoiding me practically all the time, and God knows where you've been and what you've been doing at night. _Are you seeing someone_?" Clary spluttered, her speech going a mile a minute.

Meanwhile, Jon was looking at his sister with thinly veiled impatience. "Are you done with your rant now, little sister?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Clary nodded, pursing her lips together to refrain herself from adding any other unnecessary remark. If they kept this sibling banter up, there was no way they'll ever even have a proper conversation, and Clary didn't think she'd be all too glad for that. Not with Sebastian's coronation ceremony being held tonight.

Jon sighed and ran his hands over his face wearily. He slumped forward from current his sitting position, letting his forearms rest lightly on his thighs. "You're not going to like listening to this, Clary," he started, caution evident in his voice.

"You haven't been visiting the brothels, have you?" Clary asked, unable to help herself. "Mom would be so disappointed in you for behaving promiscuously."

Jon retreated into an upright sitting position as he narrowed his eyes at his sister. "No, Clary, I haven't," he said defensively. "Now, please be serious about this. Don't interrupt me once I'm done." His face immediately changed into one of his more solemn looks, the one he had been wearing as of late, and Clary curiously nodded in affirmation.

Resting his chin atop his cupped hands, Jon inhaled a deep breath before he began to speak. "After you left, that day that gladiator got whipped, I confronted Sebastian about his actions and he told me some things; one of them being about Father having arranged your marriage with Sebastian." He paused, seeing the astonished look on his sister's face.

"As it turns out, Father has never intended to give you a choice in _who_ you would marry. Those three suitors before Sebastian were a setup by him. He purposely made sure that they were all much older than you so that you wouldn't be interested in them. Sebastian, on the other hand, has been promised your hand in marriage since you were children. Apparently, Father used you as a bargaining tool to gain help from the Verlac family and to form an alliance with their troops to launch the attack on Idris and to overthrow the Herondales," Jon explained, keeping his eyes locked with his sister's the entire time.

Clary looked hurt, betrayed, angry and upset all at the same time, but true to her word, she didn't interrupt her brother. Jon pulled his sister into his arms, letting her bury her face in the crook of his neck before he continued.

"That's not the only thing he told me, Clary. Sebastian also said that Father doesn't see me as a suitable heir to the throne. Father has plans to reunite Idris and Alicante through your marriage with Sebastian, and then, once Father is no longer capable of ruling, he intends to pass on the throne to Sebastian," he said stoically.

"But that's not fair, Jon. You're _his son._ How could he hand down the throne to someone like Sebastian?" Clary interjected him angrily.

"Yeah, that's the _other _thing, Clary," Jon said hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck. Clary looked up at him, her green eyes spurring him to go on. Jon bit his lip and took in another deep breath before explaining. "Idris' economy is being threatened, among other things—that's why there is a need for a merger between Idris and Alicante. Father this entire time has been studiously collecting taxes from the people to fund the gladiator games and has been neglecting everything else. I don't know how long this has been going on but people are being plagued by poverty in Idris. I've seen it for myself."

Jon averted his gaze from Clary's, subconsciously biting on his bottom lip again. "That's why I haven't been around the palace that much. I've been visiting the poor families in Idris, spending time with them and supplying them with rations without anyone's knowledge," he confessed, pulling his arm away from his sister.

Clary sat up straight, completely awed by her brother's admission. This whole time she had been 'fooling around' with Jace, Jon had been taking matters into his own hands to selflessly help the citizens of Idris through their poverty and starvation—a duty that their father should have been carrying out instead of him.

She took Jon's chin in between her thumb and forefinger, and tilted his head so that he was facing her. "You would make a great king, you know that?" she told him as a matter-of-fact, her green eyes shining with tears. "I'm proud of you. _Mom_ would be proud of the man you've become," she told him earnestly, and she saw a tear slip from the corner of her brother's eye.

Jon pulled Clary into a long hug, his face buried in her fiery-red hair. "I love you, baby sis. Don't you ever forget that," he told her, his voice muffled by her hair.

She pulled back from him, wiping the tear that had escaped her eye. "I know that. And I love you, too, you big buffoon," she replied playfully.

Clary's face turned serious then. "Jon, you know I can't marry Sebastian, right? I'm not going to let myself be used by anyone, not even _Valentine_," she spat her father's name out resentfully, earning a nod from Jon.

Valentine had lost the right to be called 'Father'—not when he had been toying with her and using her for his own selfish means; not when he had been practically selling her over as if she were part of the livestock trade. 'Letting other people step over her?' How could she have been so blind? He was the one who had been stepping over_ her_ this whole time. And besides, if he were truly protecting her, then he wouldn't be forcing her into marrying an abusive scoundrel like Sebastian.

Maybe that was why Valentine approved of Sebastian; they were like two peas in a pod—cold, heartless, manipulative, and not to mention, deceitful frauds. Which could also mean one other important thing—Jace was _more than likely_ telling the truth.

"Jon," Clary started nervously. "Do you believe Fa—_Valentine_ about his history with the Herondales?" she asked.

"No," Jon replied immediately. "I don't believe a word he says or has ever said to us. Knowing his obsession with the games, I wouldn't put it past him to steal from his own parents and frame the Herondales for it. It adds up to why Alicante is so generous to him, after all. He bought them over with money, and now, he's trying to use you too."

Jon looked at Clary, and right in that moment, she caught a clear glimpse of her protective older brother, the one who was, and would always be there for her. "Don't worry, Clare-bear. We're going to stick together from now on and I'm going to protect you," he said, stroking his sister's hair as a sign of his promise to her. "I'm not going to let _Valentine_ go through with his plans; Sebastian will have to go through me before he can touch a hair on your head. I'm not sure how we are going to do this, but I have every intention of exposing our father for his crimes and to relinquish him from the throne," he said determinedly.

Clary nodded, contemplating over her brother's words silently. "You know, if we're going to do that, we are going to need to look for evidence about his activities," Clary said after a while, remembering Jace's words to her from the night before, when he had begged for her to look for proof to substantiate his claims about his parents' innocence. Clary owed it to Jace to clean his family's name—although she knew that even without the evidence, she believed him now.

"Um, Jon?" Clary squeaked, feeling nervous all over again. She still hadn't told her brother about Jace yet. Jace could very well be a powerful ally to help them with their plans to thwart their father—well, more than an _ally _to Clary_. _Besides, Jace had even admitted to her about his plans to kill Valentine, which means that he would be more than happy to be on their side.

Jon raised a questioning eyebrow, nudging his sister to go on. "I need to tell you something," she said slowly.

"Yes, Clary, I figured that with the way you've been acting lately," he said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice. "You're not pregnant, are you?" He narrowed his eyes at his sister suspiciously.

Clary's mouth fell agape. "NO!" she retorted defensively. "I'm still a virgin!"

Jon's lips pulled into a grimace and he coughed loudly. "No. I do not need to know about my sister's sex life," he said, shivering every once in a while to show his repulsion towards the idea.

"You are so annoying," Clary gritted out, resisting the urge to punch her brother in the nose and to restart his nosebleed. Letting out a long sigh, she leveled him with a serious look. "Anyway, do you remember that gladiator?" she treaded lightly, her face adopting an innocent look. He could be rather overprotective about her and her _interactions_ with the opposite sex sometimes, and it would not be a good idea to just jump in and tell him about Jace.

"The one that you're infatuated with?" Jon inquired casually as if she'd asked him about the weather.

Clary sent him a shocked and incredulous look. "How would you know if I was infatuated with him?" she spluttered, mildly concerned by his nonchalance towards his own accurate perception—well, _almost accurate_, but that was beside the point. _This_ wasn't like her brother at all.

"Please, Clary, get to the point. I knew you liked him from the very first time I met him in the stables. And it's pretty obvious he likes you, too," Jon said distractedly while scratching his nose. He sniffled, then suddenly catching on the meaning behind the words he'd exchanged with his sister, his eyes widened and he whipped his head round sharply to stare into her green eyes. "So, he's the reason you've been moping around lately? Don't deny it. I know for a fact that there's more going on between the two of you that you're letting on," Jon said with narrowed eyes.

_'Good job, Clary. You spoke too soon,' _she mentally scolded herself.

Clary blew out a heavy breath through her nose before tilting her head downwards, her fiery-red hair shielding her face from her brother's pointed glare. "Fine, I'll admit it. I've been seeing Jace in secret since the night of my birthday," Clary mumbled, nervously peeking through the red curtain of her hair to look at her brother.

Jon narrowed his green eyes further at her, unhappier with the fact that his baby sister was dating a boy than over the fact that he was a gladiator. "Oh, so his name is Jace now, is he, baby sister?" Jon remarked sarcastically.

Clary buried her face in her hands, ignoring her brother's comment. "_I_—_I broke up with him, Jon_," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Jon tensed. "What? You broke up with him? What happened? Did he try to hurt you or force himself onto you?" he asked, anger tingeing his voice.

Clary snapped her head round to face her brother, sending him a cold glare. "No! Jace would never do that to me!" She raised her voice at her brother, feeling her own anger rise at his accusation. "Jace respects me and would never force me into doing anything I didn't want to," she said, believing her own words. How could her brother even suggest such a thing about her Jace?

Jon sighed, regret washing over him for having jumped to such conclusions. "I'm sorry, Clary. I was stupid to say that. Even though I don't know him personally, I can tell how much he genuinely cares for you. If he didn't, he wouldn't have jumped in to save you from Sebastian and go through that horrible whiplashing for you," he said, quickly placating his sister. "Go on, then, Clare-bear. Tell me why the two of you broke up. I promise I won't say anything bad about him," Jon said encouragingly, his hand on Clary's knee.

Clary bit her lip again. "He's—he's a Herondale, Jon," she said, watching as her brother's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. "Jace Herondale, son of Stephen and Celine Herondale," she said while her brother's mouth fell agape. _'Oh well, at least he didn't choke or anything,'_ Clary thought despite herself, briefly amused by his expression_._

"He never meant for me to find out about his family, but Izzy caught the two of us at the stables five days ago, and she recognized Jace. Then I, um—I broke up with him when I found out that he was a Herondale because I thought he was just using me to get information about Valentine, but now I know that he's not. He loves me, Jon, and…I—I love him," she said hurriedly.

It was silent again for a long time before Jon spoke up again. "You really love him?" he asked her seriously.

Clary nodded. "Yes," she whispered, a sad smile on her face. "I sort of screwed things up with him, but he told me last night that he still loves me no matter what, and he would wait for me to make my own decision. He asked me to look for evidence about our father to prove his family's innocence," she said, trying to ignore the hounding guilt she felt for ever having doubted Jace and for pushing him away.

To her surprise, Jon pulled her in for another hug. "If the two of you really love each other, then you have my blessings to pursue your relationship," he said, and Clary resisted the urge to squeal like a little girl.

All too quickly, Jon pulled back, his hands loosely gripping Clary's shoulders. "Wait—you said something about Jace and you talking _last night_?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and Clary mentally squirmed. "Clary, I know for a fact you haven't left the palace in days. _Including last night,_" he stated with narrowed eyes.

Clary flashed him a wide and innocent smile. "Um, Jace came into my room last night?" she squeaked in a high-pitched voice.

Jon's face contorted in such rage that Clary could have sworn she saw a vein pop at the right side of his temple. "Clarissa Adele Morgenstern, you let a boy into your room?" he nearly yelled, before his anger was quickly replaced by confusion. "Wait, how did he get into your room? He couldn't have possibly slipped past the guards."

Clary rolled her eyes. Typical Jon and his mood swings. "His father had secret passages constructed beneath the palace that lead to the stables. I doubt Valentine knows they exist. Anyway, Jace came in through a secret door in my fireplace. And, can you believe it Jon? It turns out that my room used to belong to Jace!" she chattered animatedly, blissfully unaware of the dark events that had occurred in the room eight years ago.

Jon's eyes darted over to the fireplace in Clary's room and he stared at it in awe. Like Clary, he found it almost hard to believe that this whole time, the fireplace had actually been a secret door that led to a secret passage that no one even knew existed, but he quickly masked his face to become stern. "If Jace is trying to win me over as a future brother-in-law, he's falling behind on points—not when he's sneaking into my baby sister's room at night. No more sneaking around, Clarissa, understand? Or I will personally deliver you to the nunnery and then castrate Jace."

Clary blushed at the Jon's use of the word 'brother-in-law'. Did he already believe that Clary and Jace would end up married to each other? The thought of being Jace's wife was a welcome idea to Clary, but she quickly sobered up and came to Jace's defense. "Please! Jace would kill you before you could even touch him," she said.

Jon waved his hand at her comment dismissively. "Anything else you need to tell me about Jace?" he asked.

Clary paused thoughtfully, a somber expression on her face. "Jace told me about what Valentine did to his family. He killed Jace's father and then, he—" She swallowed. "—He raped his mother and killed her in front of him. I don't know anything beyond that, but it's pretty obvious that Valentine was out to ruin Jace's life since he's a gladiator now," Clary said, a strong hint of sadness in her tone.

"Wait. Jace told you all of this despite knowing that you're a Morgenstern?" Jon asked, doubt clouding his green eyes.

"No… One of the angels descended from the heavens and sent me this blessed revelation," she quipped sardonically with another eyeroll. She twined her fingers together in her lap and avoided her brother's eyes. "Jace doesn't care that I'm a Morgenstern. He trusts me. I may be Valentine's daughter, but I'm _not_ Valentine—not to Jace. Anyway, Jace has also made it clear to me that he's planning to kill Valentine, though he didn't elaborate on how he was going to do that," she said.

Jon sucked in a breath at Clary's statement. "I neither approve nor disapprove of Jace's plans. Honestly, if he wants to kill Valentine, I won't stop him. But for now, we're going to take this one thing at a time instead of letting our emotions get the best of us. So first things first—evidence," Jon said rationally.

"Valentine's study? He's in there a lot, and no one else is ever allowed in there besides him. I bet he stashes all his dirty evidence there," Clary said spitefully. "How are we going to get in there though?" She voiced out her question with pinched eyebrows.

Jon snapped his fingers unexpectedly and his lips pulled up into a large grin. "You know, for once, I am deeply grateful for Sebastian's coronation ceremony tonight," he said with a conniving smile.

Clary's face turned into a scowl and she smacked her brother hard across the chest. "HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT, YOU TRAITOR?" she demanded lividly.

"OUCH, CLARISSA!" he yelled, rubbing his chest. "Couldn't you have let me finish my statement before jumping to conclusions?"

Clary folded her arms across her chest begrudgingly. "Do proceed, _dear brother_," she sneered.

Fighting back an eyeroll, Jon said, "Think about it, Clary. Sebastian's coronation ceremony—Valentine will be in Alicante, which means the study will be…" He deliberately let the sentence hang in the air for Clary to complete it herself.

She nodded in understanding. "That's great and all, Jon, but in case you've forgotten, we're going to have to go _with_ him to Alicante_,_ so technically, your plan is flawed," she pointed out.

"No, Clary, it means _I'm_ going with Valentine, and _you_ are staying behind to search his study," Jon said all-knowingly.

Clary scoffed. "Valentine will drag me by my hair if I don't go. And besides, according to you, Sebastian is my 'betrothed'. What makes you think Valentine is going to let me off the hook?" she asked, still not following her brother's 'plan'.

"Because Clary…" He drew his words out slowly as though he was talking to a child. "_You_ are going to pretend to be sick and then Valentine would have no choice but to leave you behind. We'll throw in help from Izzy and Magnus to make it more convincing. I'll go with Valentine to stall him so that he wouldn't be suspicious about what we're up to. Do you understand now?" he finally explained.

Clary's face lit up in understanding and she nodded, smirking lightly at her brother. "Does it hurt?" she asked innocently, an impish glint in her green eyes.

"Does what hurt?" Jon asked confusedly.

"Oh nothing…I was just wondering if your brain hurts from all the strain it must have been put through when you came up with that brilliant plan of yours…I never knew you could pull off something like that," she jested.

"Very funny, Clary," he replied, clearly not amused by his sister's poor attempt at a joke. "I'll have you know that mom ever told me that she believed that I was born to be an intelligent child," he said proudly, raising his chin and sticking his nose up in the air.

Clary flicked Jon's nose and he snapped his teeth towards the direction her finger, as if he'd meant to bite it. "Mom's words don't count. Don't you know that it's practically a universal obligation for all mothers to say nice things about their children? If anything, mom was just trying to help you boost your self-esteem, knowing just how whiny and petulant you can be."

Jon folded his arms across his chest and stuck his tongue out at his sister in puerile display of disagreement. "Whatever, Clare-bear. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go and 'apologize' to our _most beloved father. _In the meantime, you better get yourself ready since Valentine will most likely be expecting us to leave Idris by three p.m. Remember, he has to believe that you're sick, so try to lay low for the next couple of hours," he said, purposely planting a wet kiss on his sister's cheek before childishly prancing out of her room.

Clary let out an exaggerated noise of disgust as she scrubbed furiously at the slobber on her cheek, though she couldn't help but smile as she watched her idiotic brother leave. Having confided in Jon and knowing that they were on the same page together had definitely made her feel better again. At least she knew she wasn't alone in this anymore.

Now she was only left with two things: gathering evidence about her father, and once everything had been sorted out, getting back with Jace.

* * *

**A/N: **

I was too lazy to proofread through everything cos I've been doing it countless times that I get so sick of my own writing...But anyway, I hope ya'll enjoyed this chapter!;) Lemme know your thoughts on anything and everything, like...what do you guys think of:

1\. The scene with Valentine (aka the abusive bastard)?

2\. The scene with Clary and Jonathan; their sibling relationship?

3\. Jonathan in general? (He's one of my favorite characters in this story:))

BONUS QUESTION: If an actor were to play Jonathan, who do you think should it be? (In my mind, when I'm writing this story or reading the books, I somehow always imagine him as Sam Claflin...y'know, if I disregard the fact that he's already played Finnick in THG and most likely would not be Jonathan in TMI...and also discounting the fact that he was Lily Collins' character's BFF/love interest in Love, Rosie...hehe...)

So anyways, please review! I didn't get as many reviews for the last chapter as I did for the previous ones, which was rather upsetting cos I usually take days, and sometimes weeks, to write and edit a single chapter...sighhh. So keep me happy and review! I'll see you guys in a month! ALL WHO REVIEW GETS A PREVIEW (hey, that rhymes!) OF THE NEXT CHAPTER...and trust me, next chapter is the one you guys have been waiting for (sorta). It's the chapter where all the secrets about Valentine and the Herondales are revealed! Still wondering which snippet I'mma give out to my reviewers...hmm, maybe one of V-daddy's journal entries...urgh, V-daddy. Blech, that sounds so disgusting...I just made him sound like a pimp or a sugar daddy...

Ooh, btw, I wrote a Clace one-shot the other day; not sure if any of you guys read it...but it'll be great if you guys did check it out...I wrote it when I was feeling a little bored and braindead from studying, so it's kinda random...

XO!

~N


	15. Chapter 14: In The Demon's Den

**Author's Note: **Hi guys! It's time for another new chapter!:) Thanks for all the follows, faves, and reviews! I still wish more of you guys would take the time to review, but anyways, I'm still grateful and appreciative towards those of you who do review! You guys are seriously awesome, and I thank ya'll so much, especially my loyal reviewers (you guys know who you are;)) And also, thanks to my guest reviewers! You guys mean a lot to me as well and I wish I could thank ya'll personally:)

On with the story...just a fair **warning, **this chapter contains some relatively dark content...

**Disclaimer: **Cassie Clare owns the TMI series and characters, while I own the plot to this fanfic!

* * *

**Chapter 14: In the Demon's Den**

Clary flinched sharply as a loud crash resounded from just a couple feet away from her bed. Surreptitiously peeking through her fingers, she spied the broken shards of her favorite porcelain vase on her bedroom floor and mentally cursed her father. He was pacing back and forth around her room like a caged animal, his entire body strained with anger.

"What do you mean she can't come with me to Alicante?" Valentine demanded as Magnus calmly stood up from Clary's bed after he'd finished 'checking' her.

"Exactly that, Your Highness," Magnus answered in a placid tone, having been let in on the siblings' plan earlier. He was absentmindedly picking at his own glittery fingernails, unaffected by the king's outburst. "Your daughter isn't feeling well. Making her go will only cause her health to deteriorate."

Clary shut her eyes tightly as Valentine snatched up another one of her vases in his hand and flung it towards the wall, resulting in another massive pile of shards. Wonderful, she thought sardonically. Had the man no respect for antiquities?

"Well, how is it that she ended up with food poisoning while her brother and I remain perfectly fine?" Valentine snapped, obviously not satisfied with the doctor's response. His clenched fists were shaking furiously and he looked as if he was mere seconds away from throttling someone.

"Maybe she ate something Isabelle cooked," Jon casually supplied from Clary's bed as he lovingly stroked his sister's hair back from her 'sweaty' face.

Clary turned her face into her pillow, hiding her smile at her brother's joke. She was currently curled up in a ball, _shivering_, her face drawn and pale, thanks to Isabelle's 'tinkering'—not that Izzy had truly poisoned her or anything; she had merely done Clary's makeup to make her look sickly and paler than usual.

From across the room, the raven-haired maid stiffened and fixed the back of Jonathan's head with a murderous glare. "I object! I am a fantastic cook," Izzy defended herself, feeling offended that everyone she knew kept insulting her abilities, or lack thereof, when it came to cooking. Clary clamped a hand over a mouth to withhold a childish snort from escaping her.

"And besides, I was nowhere near the kitchen today," Izzy hastily added as Valentine turned towards her accusingly, no doubt the intention to punish her brewing in his vindictive mind.

"It's true, Father," Jon quickly interjected, realizing his mistake for pinning the blame on Izzy for Clary's 'food poisoning'. "The cooks have explicitly banned Iz—I mean, 'Isabelle'," he corrected himself, "from the kitchen the last time she nearly burnt it down. There's no way she could have ended up anywhere near there without being dragged away by the guards. I was there the last time it happened."

Valentine turned his attention towards his son, fury still glinting in his charcoal-black eyes. "Well then, Jonathan, do you have any other fruitful explanation as to why your sister is suddenly ill?"

Jonathan sighed wearily at the sound of his father's demeaning tone as he looked at him straight in the eye. "I don't know, Father," he said, resisting the urge to spit out acid as he spoke to the man. He was really testing his patience. "I don't see why there is even a need to start pointing fingers in this situation. So Clarissa is ill; let her be, then. Accusing and punishing someone else won't exactly heal her now, would it?" Jon asked, anger beginning to seep into his tone.

Valentine opened his mouth again, no doubt to argue with Jonathan, when the latter interrupted him. "And besides, it's not as if Clarissa would be deprived of any other future meetings with Sebastian should she miss his ceremony tonight." Clary winced at Jon's statement, and he discreetly rubbed his thumb over her hand to soothe her.

"Her health is far more important than any of this, anyway. Do you really want me to lose the only sister I have left?" Jonathan delivered the last sentence dramatically, tears beginning to spring his green eyes. He was such a convincing actor, he thought, silently applauding himself as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

From behind him, Clary squeezed his hand and muttered with subtle annoyance, "I'm your _only_ sister."

Jonathan immediately turned around at the sound of his sister's voice, cupping her cheeks in both hands and shaking her wildly. "Oh hush! Don't speak, Clarissa! Save your strength!" he blabbered.

Clary cupped a hand over her mouth as she felt a genuine wave of nausea pass through her from her brother's incessant shaking.

Magnus stepped forward and placed a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "Umm, Jon? It might not be such a good idea for you to shake your sister like that. Unless you want her to start throwing up on you, that is," Magnus said, inconspicuously raising an amused eyebrow at the Morgenstern boy's theatrics.

Jonathan immediately stopped. "Oh yes, you're right. I must apologize. I do tend to get carried away sometimes when it comes to my darling sister," he said, wiping the corner of his eye with his sleeve. Clary buried her face in her arms and let out a groan, praying to God that Valentine wouldn't get too annoyed by Jonathan and end up dragging her to Alicante.

Just then, Jonathan dropped his hands into his lap and began to sniff the air like a dog. "Oh blessed heaven, what is that horrendous smell?" he whined, his face contorting into a grimace as he got up and walked towards Clary's bathroom, the other occupants in the bedroom—sans Clary—watching him intently.

"EWWW! Clary, you didn't even have the decency to rid the floor of your vomit?" he screeched from the doorway of the bathroom, his face genuinely turning green at the sight of the vomit—or to be exact, the vomit-looking 'broth' that Izzy had tried and failed to make the day before. Oh well. On the bright side of things, at least they they knew that they could always rely on Izzy's horrible cooking skills for times like this, Jonathan's conscience reminded him.

He stomped back into Clary's room and jumped onto her bed, tucking his sister in tightly with the blankets as if she were a tiny infant. How Clary wanted to smack her brother for coddling her like that. The obnoxious oaf, she thought grudingly.

"There, there, sweet baby sister," he crooned to her. "It's all right. Just sleep now." He caressed Clary's cheek, ignoring their father's—and Clary's—irritated glare.

Feeling a sudden overwhelming itch of exasperation, Clary decided to speed things along by doing the unexpected—she bit her brother's hand.

"Ouch!" Jonathan screamed, frantically bouncing off Clary's bed with a cat-like hiss in her direction. "Father, see! This is what would happen if we bring her along! Do you really want my _rabid_ sister to start biting Sebastian's guests, or even worse, him?" he asked, showing him the teeth marks on his hand.

Valentine huffed again before sharply turning on his heel and storming out of the room in defeat, slamming the door behind him shut with such force that the door practically rocked from its frame.

Jonathan gave out a cry of victory and began to dance in front of his sister, shaking his hips unflatteringly to the imaginary fanfare music in his head. Clary, having 'miraculously recovered' from her sickness, reached up and swiftly smacked her brother on the back of his head, causing him to fall onto his knees on the floor with a groan.

"OW! Why do you like abusing me so much?"

"Hurry up before Valentine leaves you behind, you nitwit," Clary hissed as she pushed her brother away from her.

Jon quickly sobered up and planted a kiss on his sister's forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck, Clare-bear," he whispered, giving her a tiny affectionate smile.

"Good luck dealing with the assholes for me," Clary whispered back. Jonathan chuckled, and with a wink, he strode towards the door.

"Jon?" Clary called, just as his hand reached the doorknob. He looked over his shoulder at Clary, an eyebrow raised enquiringly. "I love you, my dimwitted goon of a big brother," she said teasingly.

Jon smiled. "I love you too, my dwarfish midget of a little sister," he replied, barely escaping the room in time as Clary flung a fluffy pink pillow towards the door.

* * *

Clary snuck into her father's study soundlessly, letting out a sigh of relief as she closed the door shut behind her and leaned her back against it. It had been close to four hours since both Jon and Valentine had left the palace grounds for Alicante, and Clary had finally began to set their plan in motion. She would have started much earlier, but Jon had been adamant that she waited it out until nightfall, when Sebastian's ceremony would begin. It was safer, he had said; that way, she would know for sure that their father would be in Alicante.

The good news with this was that even with the distance between Idris and the Alicante being shorter than most kingdoms surrounding them—separated only by a 120-milelong terrain known as the Brocelind Forest—the one-way journey alone by horses would take about four to five hours. In other words, she still had, at the very least, a six-hour window (including the time that Valentine would spend at the ceremony) to scour the place for evidence. And if she were really lucky, Valentine and Jon would only be back in Idris earliest by dawn tomorrow.

Blinking her eyes, Clary forced her mind to focus as she began to glance around Valentine's study. It wasn't remotely big like any of the other rooms in the place. The walls were painted a dull ecru color, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling; the office was furnished with several wooden bookcases and a large mahogany desk complete with a black leather office chair. On the table sat piles and piles of papers and opened brown envelopes, as well as the Morgenstern seal press.

Still partially in a daze, Clary moved towards the desk where she began to rifle through the papers, skimming over each one meticulously for clues about any suspicious dealings related to Valentine. With each paper she went through, she felt herself feeling increasingly deflated. There was nothing.

None. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

Making sure to place them in the exact order that they were in after her unsuccessful attempt, Clary rummaged through the drawers in the desk instead, hoping to find records of any past transactions or tax collections made by Valentine—or any other form of incriminating evidence, really. Yet, much to her complete aggravation, she amounted to another disappointing failure.

Clary huffed in annoyance. She was convinced that there had to be evidence some_where_. There was no way that Valentine could have spent so much time in a study where others were restricted from entering without having at least _something_ to hide in there.

_'Perhaps…Valentine had an old diary or a journal hidden here?'_ Clary's mind prompted as she pursed her lips together in thought. It made sense, after all. Criminals as conniving as her father must have owned a journal to record his evil thoughts and schemes, her logical mind continued to reason.

Hope and desperation spiraling through her, Clary turned towards the bookcases, lightly running her fingers across the spines of the books arranged there. Pulling out each of thick volumes, she began clawing through the pages—still nothing. They were all just books on languages, history and a bunch of other useless stuff.

Clary groaned in frustration, resisting the urge to pull her curls out. '_Where the hell could it be? God, please, just give me a sign! Anything!' _she begged.

Just as she was about to admit defeat, something out of the ordinary caught her eye—one of the bookcases was arranged at an odd angle, leaving open a tiny gap, like…a _secret door. _Clary stared at it for a long time, blinking her eyes several times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating anything. Sucking in a breath, she took a step forward, and pushed the bookcase with a tentative hand.

To her relief, it swung open with a small creaking noise, revealing a secret room. It was submerged in darkness; the only source of light in the room came from a single oil lamp that was placed on a long wooden table.

Clary stepped into the room, retrieving the lamp with a shaky hand. She scanned the table, finding an assortment of stationery, pieces of paper with Valentine's messy scrawled handwriting on them and most satisfying of all, a brown, slightly tattered, leather-bound journal with Valentine's crest stamped onto the cover.

Holding back the urge to pump her fist in the air at her newfound success, Clary retrieved the thick journal in her hands with a large smile on her face. She slumped down to sit on the floor of the secret room, carefully placing the kerosene lamp next to her. With another deep breath, she opened the journal, smiling even wider as she recognized Valentine's handwriting on the front page—his initials 'V. Morgenstern' and the year '1685' scribbled in an elegant, cursive handwriting.

This was it. This was what she had been looking for. Closing her eyes briefly to steel herself, Clary flipped over to the next page and with a thumping heart, she began reading through Valentine's journal.

* * *

_"April 12, 1685_

_On my little escapade to Alicante today, I encountered my very first experience of the gladiator games held in Alicante's own arena, The Gard._

_I have heard of the games numerous times before from many of the travellers and traders who stop over in Idris, and have been meaning to discover what it was like to watch the games for some time now. And I must say, after sneaking in to watch the games, I hold absolutely no regrets._

_Truly, it was an amazing revel, and I find myself to be absolutely captivated by the games. I remember my own father saying that the games were barbaric, that it was mindless entertainment used to torture slaves, but I completely disagree with his opinions. Father can be completely overbearing, defending slaves as though they were our equals. In all honesty, it repulses me. Slaves are nothing but common trash who belong at the bottom of the hierarchy; and I believe that the games are a good way of establishing that pecking order._

_My only hope now is that I will be able to reign over the throne soon. I cannot wait to bring new order and change to Idris when I take over as king._

_One of the first things that I will do, of course, is to get rid of that sniveling, little scum, Stephen Herondale. He has been nothing but a thorn in my side since Father and Mother took him in. I have every belief that he intends to replace me as the heir to the throne in Idris, plotting to steal everything that I hold dear to me, and therefore, it is imperative to eliminate him once and for all. And once everything has been settled, I intend to introduce the gladiator games as a new tradition in Idris._

_August 5, 1685_

_I have been sneaking off to Alicante to watch the games for several months now, and so far, Father and Mother have been completely clueless of my whereabouts. On the other hand, I reckon that they do not care that much for me. It doesn't matter much to me though. The last thing I would ever need is for them to hinder me from watching the games, the only pure form of entertainment I have ever loved._

_On my last trip to the Gard, I met the Verlacs, the ruling family in Alicante. To my surprise, they were extremely welcoming and gracious hosts to me, even inviting me to sit amongst them on their dais to watch the games. I find that I enjoy their company very much, and watching the games from the dais, I couldn't help but imagine myself sitting on my very own dais as the new king of Idris, watching my own design of the games transpire before my very eyes._

_After the conclusion of the games, King Alfred Verlac had offered me a very exciting proposition. He had suggested that I, in some measure, help to fund the games in exchange for his promise that I would be more personally involved in assisting and having a say in the games. Not only that, King Alfred had also offered me the promise of his hospitality and aid should I ever be placed in a dire or compromising situation. After giving it much thought, I have come to see him as a useful partner and ally in the future, and have agreed to his terms._

_Of course, the money to sponsor the games will come directly from the royal funds in Idris. Despite Father and Mother's ignorance of my activities, I believe that this will be a very profitable form of investment. Seeing as Idris is already a lucrative kingdom on its own, there should be no harm in embezzling money from the kingdom._

_The first transaction has already been made and sent over to Alicante for the next games. No one knows about my dealings with the Verlacs except for my confidante, Lucian Graymark, and the men that I have hired to assist me in carrying out the movement._

_September 2, 1685_

_Apart from my clandestine activities in Alicante every now and then, I have also been seeing a beautiful young woman named Celine Montclaire, who is the daughter of a rich merchant in Idris. Despite being four years her senior, I find myself to have a deep desire and yearning for Celine, and I truly believe that I am in love with her._

_As it is, I have noticed the furtive, lust-filled glances that Stephen has been giving Celine whenever I bring her over to spend time with my family. I am afraid that he has plans to sabotage my relationship with Celine and to steal her from me, as he has every other thing that I have owned. I truly despise Stephen and I wish that my parents could see him as the deceitful and manipulative thief that he is. As such, I have every intention to claim Celine as my wife as soon as possible, and before Stephen can even make his move on her._

_December 21, 1685_

_I had only just returned to Idris after the games in Alicante, when to my outrage, I'd caught Celine cheating on me with that slithering snake Stephen over in the royal stables. Stephen and I had gotten into a fight over Celine, but to my dismay, she had chosen Stephen over me._

_I have not felt this much ire or hatred for anyone as much as I have now for Stephen. Even as a child, when he first came to my family, he had stolen my childhood friend Michael from me; and now, he has claimed the heart of the woman who was supposed to be mine. He is nothing more than a scoundrel and I wish him a most terrible death, and that he may burn in the flames of hell for all of eternity._

_And as for Celine, I have nothing but loathing for her. She has betrayed me and toyed with my emotions. I understand now that to love is to destroy. Giving my heart out to Celine was clearly a mistake; not only has she ridiculed me, but she has also destroyed my heart when she chose Stephen over me._

_January 8, 1686_

_My right to the throne is being seriously threatened; I have made a grave error during the last transaction, and it has led Father to notice the decline in the royal funds. He has ordered for an investigation, and I can only hope that he does not find out that I am the one responsible behind all this._

_January 9, 1686_

_Stephen has found out about my businesses with Alicante and has reported my activities to Father. As of right now, Father is still undecided on where I stand based on Stephen's claims, but I can see that he believes that I am guilty. I am being called to a public trial tomorrow morning in the Hall of Accords to answer to the alleged charges against me in front of my Father and his council, The Clave. I am beyond worried at this point. Everything that Stephen has been plotting against me is coming full circle_—_my own terrible lapse in judgment is about to cost me not only my throne, but my future as well._

_January 10, 1686_

_Judgment has been passed and I have been exiled from Idris for my treason. As it was, the moment I entered the Hall of Accords, I knew then that the odds were not in my favor. Stephen had managed to gather the men that I had been consorting with, and during the trial, they had confessed about their crimes and how I had paid them off for their assistance. As they had relented to my bribery, they too, including Lucian, have been exiled from Idris._

_Father and Mother will not even look me in the eye anymore. They told me that they no longer had a son by the name of Valentine, that their only son was that scoundrel, Stephen Herondale. They have ordered me to evacuate the grounds immediately before they send up their guards to escort me out of Idris by force._

_I know Stephen is probably enjoying his laugh right now. Not only has he succeeded in terminating me from my position of power as the heir to the throne in Idris, but he has also succeeded in making sure that Mother and Father have disowned me and have cut off all ties to me. I hope that he does enjoy his victory for now. He may have won this battle, but the war is far from over. I will leave Idris on my own terms with my head held high; but I swear on my own life that I will return to reclaim what is rightfully mine one day, and when I finally do, Stephen will not be the one to have the last laugh._

_January 11, 1686_

_True to King Alfred's promises, he has granted me hospitality and refuge in Alicante. I have been given my own mansion in Alicante, and for as long as I am here, I will be aiding King Alfred as his manager of the games, as well as other noble duties that he sees me fit._

_I have voiced out my desires to the king to seek revenge on Father and Stephen and to reclaim the throne of Idris from them, but King Alfred is adamant that I lay low for now despite his promises to help me. He insists that it would not do me well should I act on impulse, and after considering his opinions, I have complied with him. King Alfred is my only ally at this point and it would not be wise for me to provoke him since I am indebted to him. As much as I am eager to take back what's mine, I will be patient and attack Idris only when it is truly vulnerable._

_March 10, 1686_

_It has been exactly two months since I was exiled from Idris, and so far, I am adjusting to my life here in Alicante very well. The first week I've spent here, Lucian has introduced me to a lovely woman by the name of Jocelyn Fairchild, who is the daughter of one of the politicians here in Alicante. After spending much time with Jocelyn, I have come to the conclusion that she has indeed proven herself to be a woman worthy of my devotion._

_Granted, I do not lust for her as much as I had Celine, but I have every desire to claim Jocelyn as my own. I have proposed to Jocelyn two weeks ago, and to my delight, she has accepted my offer to become my wife; we will wed a week from now. I understand that things are moving very fast for me, but I have no desire to wait. It is evident that Celine will no longer be mine, so there is no reason for me to not move on from her and start anew with Jocelyn. With Jocelyn, I have plans to start my own family and have her conceive my heir for when I finally reclaim the throne in Idris._

_April 19, 1687_

_I have been married to Jocelyn for slightly over a year now, and today, she has given birth to my firstborn, who I have proudly named Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. I am absolutely delighted over the arrival of my son, who I see to be the future king of Idris._

_February 14, 1689_

_News has flown over to Alicante that my father, King Marcus, is dying of a chronic illness. Stephen has been announced the successor to the throne in Idris, of course. The news of my father's illness, however, is somewhat of a shock to me. As far as I know, Father has always been blessed with good health and is rarely ever unwell. I have my suspicions that Stephen may have been responsible for Father's illness due to his impatience to claim control over Idris. I would not put it past Stephen either to poison Father in order to end his life so that he can finally usurp the throne._

_That aside, I have been noticing my former childhood friend and Stephen's current best friend, Michael, sneaking into the Gard in Alicante to watch the games as of late. There is no mistaking that Michael too has fallen for the games, just as I have. I have every belief that Stephen is unaware of Michael's whereabouts, and it pleases me to know that. Michael used to belong to me, and I have no doubt that he could very well be a useful associate in the future to help me take down Stephen. But for now, I have assigned my spies to keep watch over Michael._

_July 23, 1689_

_Father has finally succumbed to his illness and his funeral was held today in Idris. Of course, living my life in exile, I was unable to attend my father's funeral, though if given the choice, I would not have gone anyway_._When I left, Father told me that he never wanted me to set foot in Idris, even if he were dead, and I am absolutely content to accept that. I do not need a father who so easily abandons his own son for another who is not even of his own blood._

_As it is, Stephen has also been crowned the new king of Idris and is probably smirking at his achievement right now. Word has it that Stephen has been married to Celine for over a year now and they are expecting their first child together. I have every wish to launch my attack on Stephen right now, but King Alfred continuously insists that it is a rash decision and that it is far too early for me to make my move; he has reminded me that if I attacked now, it would have been far too predictable for Stephen, and he would most likely be ready to vanquish me. This terribly vexes me, but I understand the need to be patient_—_Let Stephen bask in the glory of his reign for now. Let him think that I have given up and surrendered to him. I will be back to take what's mine when he least expects it._

_July 23, 1699_

_Ten years have passed since Father's death and Stephen's reign over Idris, and I am still lying in wait for the right moment to strike and to exact my revenge on Stephen. If my premises were true, Stephen would have most likely erased all his suspicions that I would ever return to Idris, not after I have been living my life in obscurity and in exile for the last 13 years._

_My son Jonathan has turned 12 years old this year. He grows to look more like me with each passing day, but I am worried about his behavior. I am not sure that he will make such a fine king in Idris, after all, for he is much too soft-hearted, like his mother Jocelyn, and his five-year-old sister, Clarissa._

_On another note, King Alfred has offered me yet another deal; he has promised me the loyalty of his troops_—_for when I finally do decide to launch my attack on Stephen_—_on the condition that I marry my daughter Clarissa to his son Sebastian when they are of age._

_There is no other way, of course, to put an end to Stephen's rule without aid from Alicante's troops, so I have willingly complied. After reviewing it, I see it as a fruitful bargain, too. Through Sebastian and Clarissa's bond in marriage, Idris and Alicante will be unified, and this will only strengthen Idris even more. Furthermore, should Jonathan fail to be the perfect king that Idris needs, there is still hope for Idris to thrive under Sebastian's rule. I see this new covenant as good progress, and I feel that I am much closer to achieving my goals_.

_As it is, I believe that Heaven is finally on my side now. According to my spies, Michael, who has been living in Alicante for the past seven years, has been spotted having issues due to his gambling addiction with the games, and is currently in jeopardy from the loan sharks whom he had been associating himself with. I believe that this is the perfect time to reel Michael in on my plans and to regain his loyalty towards me through what I have to offer him. It would be the perfect double blow to Stephen if his own best friend and the former general of his army were to betray him; and I want to inflict as much hurt on Stephen as I possibly can before I take his own life away from him._

_October 18, 1699_

_Michael has agreed to join me in my crusade to destroy Stephen Herondale, and I must say, I am extremely pleased. I have waited out for three months since finding out about Michael's situation with the loan sharks, just to watch him go through with his suffering. It was a perfect decision on my part to let Michael stew in his own juice. When I had finally approached him, he had been beyond desperate that he had immediately agreed to the ultimatum that I'd offered him. It was easy, of course_—_I only had to offer him money and tie up all his loose ends with the loan sharks for him to be indebted to me. That being said, I have in mind a very special duty for Michael_—_no one knows Stephen like Michael does, therefore, I believe that it is only fitting to let Michael be the one to plan our battle strategies for when we seize Idris._

_December 28, 1699_

_The end is nigh for Stephen Herondale and his reign in Idris. All of the plans have been finalized and the troops in Alicante have already been assembled and are waiting on my orders to move out to Idris. The first part of Michael's plan has already been put in motion_—_with Michael's map of the various military bases in Idris, we have sent over the best of our soldiers on a covert mission to take down its defense system first before the rest of the troops would infiltrate the kingdom._

_Night is here, and I sense that the hour is upon us. We will travel to Idris through the Forbidden Forest, where no Idrisian or soldier is bound to roam, where Stephen will never see us coming._

_December 30, 1699_

_Stephen Herondale is finally dead, and I can say that I have never felt this easy and content before. I remember the look on that scoundrel's face just before I killed him_—_how he had looked at me in fear, how his eyes had silently begged for me to spare him for the sake of his wife and his son. He deserved no mercy after all his past transgressions. Immediately after slaughtering Stephen, I'd ordered my men to dismember his body and to dump his remains at various locations within the Forbidden Forest_—_where he truly belongs. He deserved no funeral, much less a king's funeral; and he deserved to not have his own grave._

_And as for Celine, I am thoroughly satisfied with the time that I had spent ravishing her. It was the best I'd been with any woman, and I had enjoyed hearing her scream each time I had taken her roughly. If only she had chosen me instead of Stephen_—_maybe then I would have spared her instead of killing her in front of her weakling son, that disgusting spawn of a Herondale. I have made sure that his life will be an endless suffering, and that he may forever live out the rest of his life as a worthless slave._

_Yes, all my patience has finally paid off and everything is finally coming full circle. Everything is finally mine again._

_With this century coming to an end and a new era rising, I promise to bring new change to Idris, once I am officially crowned the new king tomorrow. I cannot wait to set my plans in motion. Once all of those who continue to remain loyal to Stephen have been eliminated for good, I will begin the construction of a brand-new arena, where I will put on the best gladiator games that the world has ever seen._

_January 13, 1702_

_I have been ruling over Idris for two years now, and so far, everything is going well. Jocelyn and my children will be riding over from Alicante by the end of this week to finally settle in at Idris. The Arena Dumont, as I have named it, has finished its construction, and the first round of gladiators has already been gathered to put on the first games in Idris. I am excited to watch my first games here, and I have high hopes that the Idrisians will enjoy the games as well as I do._

_April 4, 1702_

_The first games had only recently passed and I must say, it was an amazing success. My sentiments had been right, and the Idrisians had loved the games and are looking forward to next one. As it is, most of the kingdom's capital had been used up during the construction of the arena and to fund the first games; there is a need to replenish our resources immediately, and the only solution I see to this problem is by collecting more taxes from the people_—_a small price to pay on their part to contribute to this much bigger cause._

_September 10, 1705_

_Jocelyn has been hiding something from me for some time now. She thinks that I am completely oblivious to it, but I know better. I have my suspicions that somehow Lucian is involved in this as well. Lately, they have both been voicing out their disagreements about the way I have been ruling Idris, and for some reason, I have a feeling that they are up to something. I have dispatched spies to monitor Jocelyn's and Lucian's activities, and so far, they have informed me of Jocelyn's plans to sneak out to meet Lucian at the abandoned tavern called 'The Hunter's Moon' in Idris tonight. I intend to settle my unrest once and for all, and will arrange for my men to accompany me to their meeting tonight._

_September 11, 1705_

_Jocelyn is dead. I had followed her to the tavern last night together with my men, and to my outrage, I'd discovered that she, along with Lucian and several other politicians in Idris, had been studiously conspiring behind my back this entire time to overthrow me from the throne through an uprising._

_Once the truth had been revealed to me, I no longer saw the need to spare them their lives. After ordering my men to execute them, I killed Jocelyn and Lucian with my own hands._

_No one knows of this, of course. Lucian's body, together with the politicians', had been carefully disposed of in the Forbidden Forest, while Jocelyn's had been moved to a secluded alley in market. This way, none of the Idrisians would ever find out about their treachery and would assume that Jocelyn alone had been murdered while she had been out in the market._

_My children have been mourning over the loss of their mother and have been begging for me to investigate her murder, but I have refused them. They do not need a mother who had been an unfaithful and defiant wife to me. And as for Lucian, I have convinced my children into believing that he had moved away from Idris forever. I am doing this for their own good. My children need to learn to be stronger, to be more hardhearted. It is the only way to survive in this cruel world. Love will only make them weak. And I intend to extinguish the love out of their hearts._

_An important meeting shall be called to order soon to elect the new members of my political body, the Clave. To ensure no repeat of this treason, I would need to secure the loyalty_—_and most importantly of all, the fear_—_of my followers."_

* * *

_No more._

Clary could read no more of Valentine's journal.

She dropped the leather-bound book to the floor, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle her sobs as the words from her father's journal echoed over and over again in her head.

How could he? How could he have killed her mother? Killed her godfather? And all those other people? Stephen and Celine, and—_Oh God_, she couldn't even fathom the number of lives—_innocent lives_—that had been so cruelly ended by Valentine's hand.

How could such a man even stomach that much bloodshed? And worse still, how could such a man even exist in this world?

Jace was right. He had _always_ been right about _him_.

She had a zealot, a demented monster for a father. A monster, who had never once shown his own flesh and blood, much less others, the tiniest morsel of love or compassion. A monster, who had only ever thought of himself, who would never feel remorse, or stop to think twice before using or killing others to get what he wanted. A monster, _who didn't deserve to live._

Tears of despair soon turned into tears of anger and resentment, and Clary's body began to shake furiously. She brusquely got onto her feet, retrieving both the oil lamp and the journal from the ground before returning the latter to its original place on the long wooden table, her breaths heavy and her hand still trembling with rage.

As much as her anger-fueled self wanted her to take the journal to her brother and let him read every sordid detail about every cruel deed that their father had ever committed, her conscience was fully aware that doing so would only lead to Valentine finding out that they were up to something. And if that were to happen, who was to say that Valentine wouldn't hesitate to swing the axe down on his own children's necks just to keep _his_order intact?

Rubbing a hand against her chest to calm herself into a rational frame of mind, Clary shone the light of the lamp on the clock hanging from the wall adjacent to the table.

It was eleven past eight at night; she had been in Valentine's study for over an hour.

She still had time, a lot more time to look for more evidence to strengthen her case against Valentine. Wiping the tears away from her eyes, Clary felt her heart no longer pound with fear, but with a renewed purpose and a profound sense of anger.

_'Valentine will pay for his crimes,'_ Clary thought with utmost resolution. She didn't care that he was her father.

No, her conscience corrected her sternly, he _wasn't_ her father. He never had been, and he never will be.

Tightening her grip on the handle of the lamp, Clary trudged towards the unexplored area of the secret room, and much to her consternation, she was met with something that looked like a museum, or perhaps, more accurately put, a _tomb_—with the absence of sarcophagi, thankfully. Rows upon rows of shelves were filled with treasures and artifacts belonging to the Herondales—jewelry, paintings, vases and even weapons. She could see from a couple feet away that they had been left untouched for a long time—that much was obvious from the amount of dust and cobwebs that lay draped around the items.

A tall painting of a family portrait caught Clary's attention and she approached it with quiet curiosity. In it was a middle-aged man who was the exact splitting image of Jace, save for the fact that he had blue eyes—Stephen Herondale, Clary guessed. Next to him was a young woman with blonde hair and gold eyes—Celine—and standing in the middle of the portrait was a young boy, probably aged nine, with golden hair and matching golden eyes—Jace.

_Her _Jace.

Clary smiled as she began to silently trace over the painting of Jace's nine-year-old form, her fingers lingering over his eyes, his nose, and finally, his lips—those sweet, familiar lips that she would kiss again soon, she hoped, once she was done with her investigation.

Just then, a silver glint reflected off the light from the lamp and Clary's eyes dutifully followed the source.

It was a ring. Or more specifically, it was the Herondale family ring.

Clary walked over to the ring and picked it up, carefully turning it over in her palm. In the center of it was the engraving of the letter 'H' to represent the Herondales, and surrounding it was a flock of soaring herons.

She enclosed the ring tightly in her hand, snagging her bottom lip in between her teeth in thought. Surely Valentine wouldn't notice the ring missing from here, would he?

Clary shook her head, deciding that she didn't care if he did. This ring belonged to Jace. It was _his_, not Valentine's.

She pocketed it carefully before continuing her investigation, pausing midway through her stroll at the sight of a golden pendant that she was sure had belonged to Celine. Clary hesitated, wanting to take the necklace to Jace so that he could have a reminder of his mother, who she was sure had meant the whole world to him. But between a necklace and a ring, it would probably be a whole lot more obvious if a necklace were to go missing.

Clary sighed, moving along the length of the shelves. Again, she was tempted to take something—this time a dagger with the Herondale crest and Stephen's initials engraved onto it—but she knew she just couldn't afford to move it from its place without arousing Valentine's suspicions that someone had been through his stash.

Letting out a soft noise of disgruntlement, Clary rubbed at her temples with her free hand while shaking her head at herself. She averted her eyes away from the dagger, quietly telling herself that she had to be strong, that she had to be able to resist her temptations. But as soon as her eyes landed on another part of the shelf, right on the far-end side of the room, her self-annoyance evaporated and Clary immediately froze.

A cold chill went through her spine and her emerald green eyes widened in pure horror. She pressed her hand against her mouth to push down the bile—or a scream—from rising in her throat. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

Because there, preserved in a glass jar, was Celine Herondale's head.

And her golden eyes were staring right into Clary's appalled green ones.

* * *

**A/N: DUN DUN DUN!**

What in the f***ing hell? Is this some sort of joke?

No trust me, it isn't. And your eyes weren't deceiving you either...

So...Clary saw a real, decapitated human head, Celine's head... *Gasp* What on earth is going to happen next? (BTW, did anyone see that one coming? Like ever?)

Feel free to curse me in your reviews for leaving you guys with this cliffhanger. Haha, just FYI, I planned this from the very beginning since I started writing this story so...yep. Don't blame me or hate me. Valentine's the fucked-up sadistic psycho here. He did it! He planted this evil, ingenious idea into my head...it was super creepy cos I wrote this scene at 3am in the morning and I started imagining heads in jars...But uh, I hope none of you guys get traumatized kay?

And Luke and Jocelyn are both dead...at Valentine's hands. Creep. And you thought you CANNOT hate the man even more than you already have...tsk tsk tsk...think again...I'm twisted...or Valentine is...

Good and bad things will happen in the future (emphasis on 'bad'), but eventually good will trump all the evil out...just remember that.

On the bright side of things, Jace will return in the next chapter! So if you're dying for a glimpse of the next chapter, remember to review for a preview, alrighty? You'll be doing me a solid favor;)

I'll see you guys in a **month**! Oops torturous wait, ain't it? I'm such an evil bitch...muahaha...but unfortunately, that's the only schedule I can work with for now because I'm extremely busy with my studies and all that other mundane stuff, and well, also because I need the time to write well and edit each chapter properly for you guys... I never want to disappoint ya'll with half-assed written shit cos that's just not fair to you guys...so yeah. I'll always do my best to update as soon as I can though:) Anywho... remember, I love you guys! XOXO!

~N


	16. Chapter 15: Trying to Keep It Together

**Author's Note:**

Hooray for another chapter update! I wanna especially thank you guys who reviewed and PM-ed me the last chapter; you guys are seriously awesome;) And thanks to all who have followed and favorited Redemption...it really means a lot to me:)

OK, so I'm a little nervous about this chapter...hehe. That's all I'm going to say. Enjoy!:)

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Trying to Keep It Together**

Clary stood frozen to the ground, paralyzed in pure, unadulterated shock. Her heart palpitated in her chest, fluttering at an unnaturally dangerous pace—like a ticking bomb that was seconds away from detonating.

Around her, everything was spinning, like a deadly whirlpool that was threatening to suck her into its rapidly swirling vortex and swallow her up, keeping her helplessly immobilized and captive while it continued its treacherous and violent path of destruction.

_She couldn't breathe._

Her breaths came out in short, fast puffs—increasing faster, faster, _sharper_, yet barely delivering the oxygen she needed to her lungs. It was as though someone had his hands enclosed around her throat in a vise-grip, constricting the walls of her windpipe, incapacitating her, choking her—asphyxiating all _sense_, all life out of her.

_She couldn't move._

Her body was physically frozen to the ground, like a statue. She clutched the handle of the oil lamp so tightly in her right hand that her knuckles turned white, matching the unnatural pallor of her skin. Somewhere within the deep recesses of her turbulent mind, she was screaming, willing her limbs to jerk, willing her fingers to twitch in even the slightest bit. But they wouldn't. They froze, as did the rest of her corporeal self.

All Clary _could _manage to do, though, was to stare wide-eyed in horror into Celine Herondale's golden eyes—those hauntingly beautiful golden eyes that looked so familiar, that reminded her of the latter's son—of Jace. They were beginning to burn a smoldering hole into her own emerald green eyes, charring and singeing her brain into a worthless piece of meat, keeping her incapacitated and firmly still in her place.

Time lapsed on, but, against all odds, and against the _impossible_—just as she came dangerously close to drowning in the blustery waves of catatonia—her mind reeled back, pushing and shoving against the heavy currents.

A loud gasp pierced through Clary's lips and her chest rose and fell harshly in one sharp, sudden motion—almost as if her soul had been plunged back into her body forcefully.

She doubled over, clutching her abdomen tightly as she inhaled deeply the air around her, taking in whatever oxygen she could in one go, letting the air fill her and revive her devastated mind.

Once she had regained her stance, Clary quickly turned away from what she had seen, closing her eyes and willing the tears, the violent shivers, to go away. Her jaw shook but she willed herself to not fall apart—not now, not _here_. She had to hold it together, no matter how much she wanted to break down, throw up, and collapse onto the ground all together.

She had to pull herself together. And most importantly of all—

_She had to get the hell out of there_.

With her mind still racing uncontrollably, Clary let her body take over as she urgently retraced her steps, leaving everything as it were, as she had found them, in Valentine's secret room. It was amazing how calmly she moved, how her physical self was holding up, keeping everything together despite how terribly her mind was functioning—or more accurately put, _malfunctioning_.

She pulled the bookcase back to its original place, her limbs unusually graceful as she concealed the room once again, before she finally, _finally, _backed away and exited Valentine's study.

As soon as the door to the study fell shut behind her, Clary's spell of calmness disintegrated. She opened her mouth widely in a silent scream before her entire body was racked with earth-shattering sobs. She pulled herself up, using the wall for support. Then, Clary did the one thing she had wanted to do from the moment she laid eyes on _those eyes_—

_She ran_.

Ran at such speed she never knew she was capable of.

Ran as if hell was chasing her and its flames were viciously licking her back.

Ran as if running was the only thing keeping her from losing her feeble grip on her sanity.

Ran to the one place, the one _person_ she knew she could trust.

Ran to her sanctuary, to her refuge—

_To Jace_.

* * *

Jace was minding his usual duties in the stables again. He was grooming Wayfarer, laughing heartily as the brown horse nudged his head playfully against his side.

They've been at it for several minutes now, _horsing _around with each other like they used to back in the earlier days when Jace had been a little boy. Wayfarer had always been a sensitive horse, attuned to Jace's emotions—he knew exactly how to make Jace feel better, and for that, Jace was grateful to his animal companion.

After his heart-to-heart conversation with Clary last night, Jace had finally regained what little remained of his fire back. As much as it tortured him, he'd decided that even if Clary didn't choose him, he still wouldn't have lost everything. Admittedly, the thought of not having Clary in his life was unbearably agonizing, but at least he knew his conscience was clear—he had cleared everything up on his side and he no longer held any secrets from her.

He loved Clary, which was exactly why he would never force her into a decision she wasn't willing to make. It was up to her now what happened between them—what _would become_ of their relationship.

Earlier today at the barracks, Jace had finally picked up the slack on his training, working harder than he had ever done before, using the pent-up anger that he felt towards Valentine, Michael, and admittedly, _Clary_, to fuel him through his training.

He was going to kill Valentine—that much he was _certain_ he would be able to accomplish. At this point, it didn't matter to him if he didn't reclaim his father's throne; he would be satisfied just as long as Valentine was dead by his hand. No one was going to stand in his way anymore. No one was going to stop him from achieving his redemption.

_"__Jace…"_ Clary's voice, strained with tears, begged for his attention.

Immediately dropping the brush that he had been using to groom Wayfarer, Jace turned around, and instantly, he felt his heart break at the sight of Clary.

Gone was the alluring princess, and in her place stood a girl who was a shadow, a bare glimpse, of her former self. She looked a complete mess—as though she had just absconded from a near-death situation. Her fiery-red hair, which was usually bright and lustrous, was now a frizzy mess of tangles, and her ashen-white face was heavily splotched with tears. And her _eyes_—her once-bright green eyes that he so adored now held an extremely wild and disturbed look in them.

His anger towards Clary gone and replaced with worry, Jace opened his arms out wide for her, and she immediately ran into them, holding onto him for dear life. She sagged against him weakly, and he followed her as she sank down onto the floor of the stables, loud sobs convulsing through her tiny body.

* * *

Clary clung onto Jace tight, like a boa constrictor seizing its prey. She didn't want to let him go. The fresh horror of what she had seen in Valentine's secret room was now deeply ingrained, _imprinted_, in her mind, haunting her, taunting her with every harsh breath she took.

To say that she was shaken was a complete understatement. Clary was unnerved, distressed, perturbed, and quite possibly even unhinged.

Now that her mind had finally caught up with her and had fully registered the horror of her discovery, she was teeming on the verge of insanity. Each time she blinked or closed her eyes, she saw Celine's head and her wide golden eyes that reeked of a painful, torturous death—a death her father had caused. And what disturbed her the most was how alike those eyes were to Jace's—_her Jace_.

God, she wanted so desperately to rip the bloody image out of her head and shred it into a million tiny pieces! The stupid, _fucking_ image she kept seeing of Jace's head, bloodied and rotten, being in that _fucking _glass jar instead of Celine's. She wanted it to stop. She wanted it to _fucking_ stop!

Unwittingly, Clary's hands went to her hair, and she began yanking on her curls roughly. She clenched her eyes shut tightly, shaking her head vigorously as the image began to consume her. _"Stop! Stop! STOP!"_ she started screeching unconsciously as more tears rolled down her cheeks. She violently she threw herself off Jace's lap, crouching low against the floor of the stables, the screams still ripping from her throat.

Jace panicked, his golden eyes widening helplessly in fear at Clary's breakdown. He didn't know what was happening, what she was screaming at to stop, and that tore him apart.

Jace gently tried to pry her hands away from her hair but Clary only held on tighter. God, she was pulling it so hard that if she kept this up any longer, she was going to rip it from its roots!

"Clary, stop. Clary…angel, stop. Please just stop! Stop!" Jace begged her desperately as she continued to resist his attempts at ceasing her abuse on her hair. Tears were already beginning to prick his own eyes but Jace fought against them. Clary needed _him._ He couldn't lose it in front of her, not now.

After Jace's desperate, insistent pleas and Clary's dreadful cries had gone on for a long time, Clary finally stopped.

She just, _simply, _stopped.

In a scary-composed state, she shifted herself, _gracefully,_ into a sitting position and then, her entire body went taut, rigid, like a mannequin. She didn't move. Her dull, _deadened_ eyes stared unblinkingly into space—into nothing. It was as if she wasn't even there anymore, lost in the crevices of her own mind.

"Clary?" Jace tried to gently shake her out of her frozen state.

She didn't respond to him at all.

"Clary…" Jace tried again more urgently, the gentleness and worry palpable in his voice. He cupped her cheeks, tilting her head towards his face and forcing her to meet his eyes.

At that, Clary seemed to burst into life again. She gasped and jerked away from Jace, leaping to her feet so quickly that Jace could do nothing but stare at her. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, she looked around the stables confoundedly, tiny crinkles on her forehead and in between her eyebrows—as if she were deeply confused, and had not even the slightest fraction of an idea of where she was and how she had even gotten there.

"Clary?" Jace asked in a soft, unsure voice.

Clary turned to face Jace, and much to his utter surprise, her emerald green eyes lit up and she smiled brightly at him—as if she'd only realized he was there and could not be happier to see him.

"Jace!" Clary cried out happily as she ran towards the baffled gladiator and tackled him to the ground, her sweet giggles filling the stables. "Oh, Jace, I've missed you so much!" she said, her voice sounding angelic and melodic, just as he remembered it to be.

She buried her face into his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck while Jace's hands continued to lay still by his sides. His golden eyes were wide with shock—he couldn't comprehend what had just happened, or rather, what _was happening _to Clary.

How was she acting so oblivious? As if she had completely forgotten about her breakdown? As if nothing had even bothered her?

Sensing the tension in Jace's body, Clary pulled away from the hug, pouting at Jace sulkily. She felt deeply hurt that he didn't even bother to return her hug. Didn't he want her anymore?

"Jace? What's wrong?" she asked him, sounding awfully dejected, her face morphing into a sad, heartbroken look. Her bottom lip quivered and she said in a cracked voice, "Don't you miss me? Don't you even love me anymore?" Tears began falling down her face again, and that immediately stirred Jace into a panic mode.

"Oh, angel, of course I love you," he said, meaning the words even though he was still dumbfounded and didn't understand what was going on. No matter the circumstance, Jace would always mean it when he said that he loved Clary.

Clary sniffled but her tear-stained eyes instantly perked up at Jace's statement. "You do?" she asked him in a hopeful tone as she hastily rubbed the tears away from her eyes with her sleeve.

When her face was finally free from tears, Clary smiled widely again; she gave Jace an expectant look, silently asking him to reaffirm his earlier statement that he did love her. Jace's mouth fell agape at her drastic mood change, but he quickly nodded before she could launch into another sob.

"Oh, Jace…" Her sweet voice tinkled harmoniously in his ears. She cupped his face with her tiny hands, still smiling broadly at him. "I love you too, Jace," she murmured in a weightless voice.

Then, without warning, Clary yanked Jace down towards her and smashed her lips against his. She threaded her fingers through his hair, burying them in his luscious curls, kissing him with such passion and a roughness that felt…_foreign_ to Jace.

Still in shock, his lips stayed still against Clary's. Jace knew he should kiss her back but he couldn't. It just felt wrong. Clary was wrong—or more specifically, there was something completely and utterly wrong _with_ her.

As Jace continued to rack his brains for an explanation as to what was happening, he could feel Clary getting increasingly miffed with his refusal to kiss her back. He froze as she pulled away from him suddenly, anger marring her features as she raised her hand and smacked him hard across the cheek.

"Goddamn it, Jace! If you don't love me anymore, then all you have to do is say it!" she screeched at him angrily.

If Jace had thought that he couldn't get more dumbfounded or more…astonished, he was seriously proven wrong.

Clary got onto her feet, pacing back and forth across the stables furiously as she continued her rant while Jace continued sitting on the floor and silently nursing his red cheek.

"…You listen here, Jace! I'm not some doll whose feelings you can toy with! If you don't want me anymore, then just say it to my goddamned face instead of leading me on! What, does it give you some sort of _sick pleasure_ to play with my feelings? Well, congratulations, Jace Herondale, because—" Clary trailed off mid-sentence, looking disgruntled, her chest heaving rapidly with angry breaths. And as quickly as her temper had come, it passed, leaving her feeling empty and…confused.

_'__Herondale?'_

Why did the name Herondale sound so familiar to her? What had compelled her to call Jace that? _Jace Herondale?_

Clary backed away from Jace, her face in her hands as she tried to calm her breathing and sort out her confusion.

_'__Herondale… Herondale, Herondale, Herondale!'_

Clary knew that the name meant something! Something important. It was just right there—right at the back of her mind! Just a few teeny, tiny inches away from her reach. There was something important about that name. But the big question here was, _what was it?_

"Clary?" Jace squeaked out nervously, feeling a little, or if he was being completely honest with himself, _very_ scared of her now. A million questions flooded his mind, all of which Jace found himself helplessly unable to answer.

What on earth was happening to the girl he loved, the girl he had given his whole heart out to? What the hell had happened to her, that caused her to be like this?

A tear unknowingly escaped Jace's eye and slipped down his cheek. He wanted _his Clary_ back.

"Clary?" he called her again, his voice sounding hoarse, _pained_.

Clary removed her hands from her face and when her eyes landed on Jace, she looked at him with a look of genuine concern.

What was Jace doing there on the ground? Why was he looking at her like that? Like he was pained and…fearful of her? What on earth did she do, to evoke such fear out of him, to make him feel scared of her?

"Jace?" Clary said hesitantly and she swayed slightly from her position.

Something changed in her eyes again then—she was looking at him with a mixture of anguish, fear, longing and confusion. But more than that, and more _importantly_ than that, she was looking at him like _his Clary_ usually did.

Finally, Jace got onto his feet and approached Clary tentatively. He reached his hand out for her, as if to test the waters, and shakily, she took it, entwining their fingers together and gently squeezing his hand as if to reassure him. Jace smiled and pulled Clary closer towards him. They took their time, taking small, careful steps towards each other.

The act felt tame, _new, _as if they were touching each other for the first time. They locked eyes, gold clashing with green, holding their breaths—until there was no more space separating them. Jace smiled at Clary again, and then, they finally wrapped their arms around each other, molding their bodies into one.

Jace stroked Clary's hair lightly and they both let out a sigh in unison, as if to say, 'this was right…this _feels_ right.' He pulled away, _just a little_, and planted a long, soft kiss onto Clary's hair before letting his lips linger there.

"I've missed you, Clary. I've missed you so much," he said, nuzzling into her hair.

Clary pulled away from Jace but still remained within the circle of his embrace. "I'm right here, Jace. I'm right here," she said softly as she tenderly stroked his cheek—the cheek she had _inadvertently_ slapped during her outburst.

Clary gasped, her green eyes widening in horror as she finally noticed the bright red mark on his cheek—the mark that was completely identical to the shape of her hand. She promptly retracted her hand and put it over her mouth, looking at Jace in shock. "Jace—I…I hurt you. But when—how? I don't—"

"You don't remember?" Jace asked her, cutting her off.

They both wore similar looks—puzzled frowns on their faces.

Clary shook her head. "What was I supposed to remember?" she asked confusedly. She really had no clue. For one, she didn't even remember how she ended up here.

"Magnus," Jace said suddenly, causing Clary to frown.

"Wha—"

"Clary, where does Magnus live?" Jace interrupted her again, urgency laced in his tone. Clary furrowed her brows further at him in confusion.

"Not very far from the palace. Jace—"

"Take us to him," he urged her, grabbing her hand in his and leading them towards the exit of the stables.

Clary toddled behind Jace, trying to take bigger steps to catch up with him. He looked so determined, so…resolute—like a man on a mission. But as Clary pondered over it, she realized that Jace was being unreasonable. She was confused and he wasn't helping her. Why were they going to Magnus's?

"Jace, wait. Stop." She dug her heels into the ground, yanking his hand back sharply to stop him in his tracks.

Jace reluctantly complied, turning around to face Clary. He was about to open his mouth to speak but this time, she cut him off.

"Jace, why are we going to see Magnus? _What's going on?_" she asked with a slight waver to her tone. She needed to know what was going on. She needed _him_ to tell her because, truth be told, everything that was happening was beginning to scare her and he was the only one she knew she could trust to give her the answers that she needed.

Jace ran his hands through his curls, a pained look in his eyes. "You—I don't know what's going on, Clary," he told her, shaking his head, hoping that she wouldn't push him to explain further.

But looking into those green eyes, those green eyes that, despite everything, held that firm stubbornness in them, Jace knew Clary wasn't going to budge. She would stand here all night until he gave her what she wanted; and in this case, she wanted an explanation that he wasn't even sure he was willing to give. Jace sighed. There was no easy way going about this—he had to be honest with her.

"I…I was grooming Wayfarer and then—you—you came in here, looking like—like you've been through _hell_," Jace started, his voice tight with distress. "…And then, you…you broke down in my arms. You cried, and then all of a sudden, you started yanking your hair and screaming for something to stop."

Jace swallowed hard as he looked at Clary, tears gathering in both their eyes. "And then, after that, you just froze. Like you were…stunned. I—I tried to make you snap out of it, and when you did, you looked as if you had no clue about where you were and how you got here. And then I called you—you lit up like a child on Christmas day when you saw me and then ran straight into my arms," Jace said, his voice straining further. He blinked and a tear fell down his cheek. God, he didn't even want to talk about the next part.

"And then afterwards, you just went into this whole mood swing," Jace said heavily. "Within the course of five minutes, you went from being happy to being upset with me, to being happy again and then you were angry, and then—and then, you became _you_ again." Their eyes locked, both of them radiating with fear and helplessness.

"I don't know what happened, Clary. I just don't know," he muttered, sounding so small. He looked down, as if disappointed with himself for not being able to give them both the answers that they were searching for—

That was a complete understatement, of course. Jace despised himself for not knowing, for being so helpless. How was he supposed to help the love of his life if he didn't know what was happening to her? Or what happened to her _before_ any of this even happened?

Seeing Jace like that, seeing him in so much pain because of her, Clary felt her heart twinge with guilt. And hearing that she'd done all _that_, that she'd freaked him out with her little crazy episode, she felt herself silently freaking out as well.

Was she really going insane? How long would it be before she lost it again, before she would freak out on Jace again? If she were to lose it again, would she ever be able to break herself out of it, or would she forever be trapped in a dark pit of insanity? And if that were to happen, would Jace still love her? Or would he abandon her and leave her to suffer alone?

She would rather _die_ than to have that, than to have Jace leave her. She would rather _die _than to live out the rest of her days as an insane woman. What would be the point of living if she had no control over her own mind? And...even if Jace were to stay by her side, she would only end up hurting him even more…and then what?

More tears spilled down Clary's cheeks and her jaw trembled furiously. "_Kill me, Jace_," she rasped out, and Jace looked at her in shock, his golden eyes widening in alarm at her _request._

But soon enough, his shock turned into anger, and Jace strained to keep himself from raising his voice at her. "Are you insane?" he demanded sharply, causing Clary to cry harder. _'Wrong choice of words, Jace,'_ his conscience reproached him.

"That's exactly why I want you to kill me, Jace!" she yelled, irrationality clouding her brain. "I don't want to live, knowing that I can turn crazy at any time… I'd rather die. I'd rather you just end my life before I have to go through that again. I'm not stupid. I know how much it hurt you. _I don't want to hurt you_." Her voice lowered to a whisper—a desperate plea.

_'__Sure, Clary, why don't you just take a dagger out and stab me in the chest with it repeatedly?' _Jace thought angrily.

He tucked two fingers underneath Clary's chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His golden eyes swirled with a mixture of rage and anguish. How could she say that? How could she even ask such a thing from him?

"You saying that _hurts me_ a lot more than you can imagine, Clary," he said in a strangled voice. "Understand this—I love you, and there's no way in hell I'll ever bring myself to ki—_harm_ you, so _don't you dare_ ask anything like that of me _ever again_," he told her in a stern voice, causing Clary to flinch.

Guilt coursed through her again, and Clary could only manage a single nod. She didn't want Jace to be angry with her. What if his anger turned into hate? Clary didn't think she could handle that—of Jace hating her. She couldn't.

Much to her surprise, Jace only stroked her cheek, his touch feather-light, gentle, as he wiped away her tears, as though his anger had already faded.

"I love you, Clary," he said softly, in such a loving tone that Clary looked up at him in awe. His golden eyes were so warm—like honey—that Clary felt as though Jace was caressing her with his eyes. How did she ever be so lucky as to end up with someone like Jace? Who loved her despite her imperfect self?

"Why?" she accidentally asked aloud.

Jace looked taken aback by her response—clearly having expected her to answer by saying that she loved him too—but he quickly recovered and answered her question anyway.

"Because you make me into a better man; because you see me for myself. Because you don't ask me to be anything other than myself—that's why I love you."

Not waiting for her to reply, Jace lifted Clary into his arms and caught her lips with his. She squealed in surprise before kissing him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and weaving her fingers through those golden-blonde curls she so loved. She tugged at them roughly, causing Jace to groan and chuckle lightly into the kiss. Clary giggled and Jace took it as the opportune moment to gracefully slip his tongue into her mouth and gently slide it against hers.

As their kiss quickly grew more heated with passion, all of sudden, Clary felt the block on her mind—the dam that had been steadily repressing her memories of the night's events—_break_.

Her memories rushed back into her in a single violent surge and Clary sharply pulled away from Jace, gasping, before she stumbled backwards and landed harshly on the hard floor of the stables. She winced as a sharp pain lanced through her tailbone, but her eyes quickly grew wide as the onslaught of memories—of her discoveries in Valentine's study—flashed through her mind.

She remembered everything—

The secret room in Valentine's study. Valentine's journal filled with all his dirty secrets. The Herondale treasure displayed on shelves in Valentine's room. The Herondale ring. The Herondale dagger. Celine Herondale's head preserved in a glass jar—and her eyes, her wide golden eyes that resembled Jace's, lashing out at her of the horrors of her father's crimes.

She remembered_ everything_—

And the trauma of it all was getting too much for her to bear.

She needed to forget again. She needed to erase those wretched memories from her brain. She needed to wipe out those images from her _head_—

'_Wait a second…head? Celine's head! Celine's dismembered head! Celine's golden eyes attached to her head. Her golden eyes, bright like Jace's…what if it were Jace's head in that jar instead? Jace's head, next to his mother's…a whole collection of heads! Herondale heads!'_

Clary's frenzied thoughts flew, one after the other. She felt her mind straining as it continued to run a mile a minute, viciously working overtime. It was all getting too much—_too fucking much._

And it hurt. _God, it hurt so much._

Clary wanted the pain to go away. She _needed_ the pain to go away.

Clamping her hands over her ears, Clary tucked her head to her knees, rocking back and forth vigorously as image after image seized her mind. Around her, Jace continued to scream and plead with her to fight against her mind, _to stay with him, to come back to him_, but she could not bring herself to listen to him anymore.

Clary felt her mind give out, and she collapsed tiredly into Jace's warm arms. But before her emerald green eyes fell shut, she caught a glimpse of a worried pair of beautiful eyes—

_Jace's golden eyes_.

* * *

**A/N:**

Oh joy. Another cliffhanger. _Ish._

Bet you guys didn't see Clary's breakdown coming, huh?

Well, in all honesty, this chapter turned out almost completely different from the way I initially wrote it to be. It was originally a fluffy Clace reunion scene but I thought it was unrealistic if Clary were to _just_ cry in Jace's arms after finding Celine's head and then make up with him...I mean, if you were to find a real-life human head in a dark secret room, wouldn't you be traumatized out of your wits too? That, added with the other creepy-ass shit Clary found out in Valentine's diary the last chapter...it's a damn lot to take in, especially for a sixteen-year-old girl who spent her whole life being lied to and manipulated by her own father, so yeah. She just needs time to come into terms with everything...

But anyways, what are _your_ thoughts on this chapter?:)

And ooh, a tiny rainbow is just around the corner...*hint, hint*

I'll be doing my best to update in **2 weeks**' time! Yes, you heard me. Or _read_, rather. Not one month. Two weeks. I'm 80% done with writing ALL the chapters, including the epilogue. I just need to find time out of my annoyingly busy schedule to edit cos the 24/7 OCD me is extremely paranoid about grammar, and more importantly, the FLOW. Especially in the last two chapters. Mmm-hmm. Until then, please do me a favor by reviewing, my lovelies?:)

XO!

~N


	17. Chapter 16: Stronger Together

**Author's Note:**

Hellooo, guys! Here's the next chapter. Yes, that's right. I updated in a week.

Anyways...this chapter is super long, and to be honest, I'm really, really nervous about your reactions to this chapter, so go easy on me? Please?

But before that, I just wanna thank my reviewers for the last chapter, and apologize for not replying to your reviews...I usually try my best to respond to reviews but I've been busy with a lot of things, and at the same time, I've been working really hard to edit this chapter the best I can, so I'm sorry for that. I love ya'll anyways, and thank you so much for your support.

**Disclaimer:** Cassandra Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Stronger Together**

"She's suffering from trauma—again," Magnus said with a long, weary sigh as he plopped down onto the purple couch next to Jace. "Except this time, I imagine that whatever happened to Clary must have been a whole lot worse than the time she watched you getting whipped for it to trigger such a drastic response out of her."

Jace let out a shuddering breath, and he rubbed his large hands over his face slowly in an attempt of shielding the pain and worry he was feeling for his Clary. Across from him, Simon was seated stiffly on a brown stool, wringing his hands nervously as he took in Magnus's words.

Yes…Simon.

What on earth was Simon doing in Magnus's house with Jace and Clary, you may ask?

Well, moments after Clary had passed out in Jace's arms, Simon had coincidentally shown up, claiming to have forgotten his satchel in the tack room of the stables. But as soon as he saw his best friend, the princess, lying unconscious in the gladiator's arms, he had quickly taken to insulting Jace and accusing him of hurting Clary. Jace had seethed with rage at Simon's allegation that he had harmed Clary, and honestly, if it hadn't been for the fact that he had been more worried about Clary's condition, he would have throttled the rat-boy on the spot. A barbed exchange had soon followed between the two, and after, when they had finally reached a consensus that Clary's health was far more important than their petty little argument, Simon had led them to Magnus's house, and Jace, _poor Jace,_ had very nearly gone down on his knees and begged the doctor to help his Clary.

Not that Magnus would have denied helping the princess, of course.

As far as Magnus was concerned, he had always held a certain fondness for Clary, as he did for her brother, Jonathan. In some ways, he'd taken to the Morgenstern siblings as though they were his own niece and nephew, and therefore, it would have been against his morals if he had turned down their pleas for help.

"What you saw earlier, with Clary 'freaking out' was her trying to repress her memories," Magnus continued, rubbing his chin contemplatively.

"It's one of the responses that a victim picks up on when placed in situations of extreme distress. Sometimes the memory of a disturbing experience gets too much, too overwhelming, that the victim tries as much as possible to withdraw himself, or in this case, _herself_, from remembering it. It's something like short-term amnesia, whereby her subconscious tries to block out memories that it considers to be psychologically dangerous for her, or that could possibly trigger the memory of the actual disturbance," Magnus explained.

"But that still doesn't explain her emotional mood swings," Jace said in a low tone, his voice sounding hoarse and tired. His bloodshot eyes subconsciously darted towards the direction of Magnus's bedroom, where Clary was currently resting in, still unconscious, before he returned his attention to his shaky hands.

"Emotional mood swings are one of the many side effects of trauma," Magnus answered in a neutral tone as he eyed the gladiator with mild curiosity. Why was he so inexplicably concerned about the princess?

"Is it…permanent?" Jace asked hesitantly. He lifted his head and looked at Magnus, pain, and somewhere deep down, _hope,_ stirring in his features.

"No…not really," Magnus answered, a thoughtful look in his yellowish-green eyes. "But it might take time. Honestly, it all depends on Clary. The sooner she opens up about what actually happened to her, then the easier it will be for any of us here to help her. But as long as she closes herself off, as long as she forces herself to push it down, her recovery process would be a lot harder. She needs to be brave enough to face it at one point in order for her to cope."

Jace sighed, a deep frown on his face. "How—how can I help her?" Jace asked again.

Magnus opened his mouth to answer when Simon butted in. _"You?_" he asked, looking at Jace incredulously.

Magnus and Jace turned their heads to look at Simon—or perhaps, 'glare' would be a more accurate word in Jace's case.

"What do you mean by what can _you_ do? You have nothing to do with Clary other than the fact that you were there when she broke down," Simon said, narrowing his eyes accusingly at the gladiator.

Jace's entire body stiffened and his jaw set as he tried to control his temper. "Watch what you say, Lewis. _I love Clary_—and likewise, the feeling is mutual for her. So technically speaking, I have_everything_ to do with her," he gritted out in between clenched teeth, his nostrils flaring angrily.

God, how Jace wanted to punch the rat-boy's teeth in for even opening his mouth! But no, he couldn't; he was Clary's friend, or 'best friend', as Clary had put it the night he'd first shown up for his duties at the stables. Jace didn't think that Clary would be too happy with him if he were to punch Simon in the face. She would probably lash out at him, or worse, give him the cold shoulder for hurting her friend. No, he didn't need to give Clary a reason to be upset with him and then push him away from her. He would swallow his pride—_for Clary's sake._

"YOU WHAT?" Simon shouted, his brown eyes wide with disbelief as he glared at Jace.

Right. How could he have possibly forgotten? Neither of them—Simon or Magnus—knew about his relationship with Clary. Jace wanted to slap himself for his slip-up. What if Magnus and Simon were to report him to Valentine?

As Jace lost himself in his internal conflict, Magnus stared at the gladiator, looking only mildly surprised by his revelation. After all, he had seen Clary with the gladiator before, on the night of the famous whiplashing incident.

On that night, Magnus had seen something intriguing in both their eyes—the way they had looked at each other, at times as if there were no one else in the room but the two of them. It was a rare look he'd seen exchanged between couples that not only have been married for a long time, but have a deep and profound love for each other.

And seeing this gladiator here, sitting on his couch in his living room with a look of pure anguish on his face whenever they talked about Clary, or how he had practically broken down Magnus's door when they'd arrived, with Clary held protectively in his arms, Magnus knew without a hint of a doubt that the gladiator was indeed deeply in love with the princess.

"I—" Jace started, when all of a sudden, Clary's loud screams came from Magnus's bedroom.

All three of them jumped up, and without waiting, Jace immediately ran into the room, not caring at all about what either Magnus or Simon thought of him. All he knew was that he needed to get to Clary; he needed to make sure that she was okay.

As soon as Jace burst through the door, his golden eyes instantly fell on the redheaded princess, who was thrashing around on the bed and screaming violently in her sleep. Rushing to her side, Jace shook her vigorously by the shoulders, determined to wake her up and to save her from whatever nightmare that was tormenting her.

_"Clary, angel, wake up! Clary! Wake up!"_

Gasping loudly, Clary bolted upright on the bed, her face stained with tears. She searched the room frantically, and when her emerald green eyes found Jace, she immediately threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and hiding her face in the crook of his neck, wanting nothing more than to feel him, to know that he was real, that he was _here_; that he was here _with her_ and not in that horrid dream.

Not in that horrid room.

_Not just a bloody head._

Making soft hushing noises, Jace held Clary's small frame to his large one tightly before scooping her up and seating her onto his lap. He scooted towards the middle of the bed, leaning his head against the headboard, Clary still clinging onto him as he rocked her back and forth like father would his child.

As her sobs grew louder, Jace held her even tighter, though not tightly enough to suffocate her, his eyes closed as he hummed her the lullaby she'd sung to him once, on the night that she'd looked after him, when he'd been nothing more than a bloody, whipped mess.

From the doorway of the bedroom, Magnus and Simon watched couple as they embraced, both of them with worried looks on their faces.

Magnus wanted to step in to help Clary, but then, seeing her together with the gladiator in that position—in a rather 'intimate' position—he felt as though he was intruding on a private moment, that him interfering would only serve as a hindrance to Clary's recovery.

Healing herbs and medicine could only do so much to help calm her down from her trauma. Clary needed someone, someone whom she could trust, and who could lend her the support that she needed in return.

The gladiator would be able to handle Clary on his own, Magnus thought decidedly, entrusting the princess to his care.

So without making a sound, and with a final encouraging smile to Jace, he tugged Simon by his arm away from the doorway and let the door fall shut behind them.

* * *

"Shh, shh…it's all right, Clary. I'm here…I'm here… No one can hurt you. I won't let them…I promise," Jace said in a honeyed voice as he smoothed down her disheveled red locks.

He could feel Clary's hot tears creating a puddle on his neck but he didn't care. He held onto her tighter, even as her sobs grew impossibly stronger.

"Shh, it's okay, Clary. Just let it all out. You don't need to hold back anymore. You don't need to hide anything. I'm here. I'm always going to be here…I'll never let you fall," he vowed.

"Don't shut me out, Clary. Let me in. Please, just let me in. Let me share your burden with you...you don't have to face any of this on your own...let me help you...let me be there for you..."

Clary closed her eyes and paid attention to the sound of Jace's voice, allowing the musicality of it to envelop her and cocoon her like a warm blanket. Slowly, and miraculously, she felt the anxiety and cold despair in her heart melt away, replaced by a warm feeling, a feeling that only Jace could provide her with—safety.

Now, right in that very moment, despite all the ugliness plaguing her mind, Clary felt safe in Jace's arms. She felt safe each time she heard the smooth timbre of his voice, and each time he touched her, held her, and kissed her.

Nothing and no one else could give her that feeling, or the rest of the feelings that came along with the safety: the love, the comfort, the trust, and above all else, the _hope_—hope, no matter how faint, that she would be able to get through this entire ordeal.

_''Ordeal?' Is that what you call _all this_?'_ A menacingly shrill voice demanded, causing Clary's heart to practically lurch out of her chest.

As quickly as the feeling of peace and security had visited her, it vanished, leaving Clary—once again—a fumbling mess.

She trembled furiously in Jace's arms, pathetic whimpers escaping her lips as the gruesome image of Celine's head began to manifest itself in her mind without an invitation. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, Clary fiercely shook her head, shoving the unwanted image away to make room for that tiny shred of lucidity as Jace's achingly desperate and persistent whispered words tried to make a reach for her through the heavy pandemonium that was her mind.

_"Stay with me, Clary."_ His words sounded so muffled to her ears at first; or at least, to her, they sounded so distant, as if she was hearing him from underwater, where the waves were continuing to pull her under—_deeper and_ _deeper_.

"Stay with me…please. Please don't leave me again," he begged her with so much pain and need in his voice.

Almost like a powerful incantation, the single plea chased the bedlam in Clary's mind away, her ceaseless shaking dissipating into calm stillness. She closed her eyes, hugging Jace tighter to her, allowing his voice to, once again—albeit momentarily—be her focal point, the tether that kept her mind bound to sanity.

She felt liberated, _almost_, if not for the voices of doubt—voices she recognized to be her own—that rose in her mere minutes after she'd allowed herself to feel peace. Clary gritted her teeth, exerting all her energy into restraining herself from screaming as the voices bombarded her with the same contradictory questions, provoked her with the same venomous but legitimate remarks._Would Jace still love her? Was she really anything at all like Valentine? Was her breakdown the price she had to pay for her father's cruel deeds?_

It was so incredibly exhausting, Clary wondered how she hadn't even passed out yet. She hated herself, hated the unending game of tug-of-war inside her head. Funny, she thought sardonically, how she used to love playing tug-of-war with her brother when they were younger.

The irony of how much her childhood games reflected her current predicament would have been laughable, except now, the situation was anything but. God, how she would rather be on the receiving end of her father's whip than to have to face this! She would rather take that agonizing physical punishment than to be at two warring sides with herself—

Only, deep down inside of her, Clary _knew_ that she didn't want _that_ either. Deep down inside of her, Clary knew that there were no other sides but _one_.

_One_ that _only wanted_ to destroy her father. _One_ that _only wanted_ him to be brought to justice for all the cruelty he'd inflicted upon her family and Jace's—and everyone else, to be frank.

Clary's eyes clenched shut as realization dawned upon her over what she had to do. Mentally, it was so hard, so painful to think about, but that _one_, unanimous side of her knew—rationally—that the only way she would ever be able to accomplish what she wanted, the only way that Jace could help her to stand upright again was if she were to open up to him.

They were, after all, a _team_; it wasn't fair that he was carrying her deadweight while she lounged around and wallowed in misery and self-pity. Even though the idea was so unbelievably _tempting_—

_'No!_' Clary argued with herself as her delicate fingers subconsciously curled into tight fists around Jace's shirt.

There can be no more self-pity. There can be no more pushing Jace away. She had to be able to move on from all of this. She _had to_ be able to pull herself back up first so that Jace could help her mend the broken pieces of herself and make her whole again. She had to. _For him._ And besides, Jace had gone through a lot worse than she had—and he'd only been a little boy then. If he was still standing after all of _that_, then so could she, right?

Closing her eyes in deep concentration, Clary took in slow and deep breaths, all the while willing herself to gather her wits about her, to push away the selfish anxiety, the patronizing thoughts that were threatening to overtake her.

In the back of her mind, she saw the images of her discoveries in Valentine's secret room. She saw clearly Celine's head, and yes, those bright golden eyes that shone like Jace's. But this time, she didn't try to force those images down. This time, she didn't allow herself to feel afraid—_not really_, she tried convincing herself_. _After all, Jace was _here_ with her. He was alive, and he was _safe_. And he was here to face her demons with her.

But then, what if…what if Jace were to hate her when he finds out about what Valentine had done to his parents—_to_ _his mother? _The same question harried her. This whole time, he'd stuck around because he still hadn't found out about the true extent of the horrors that Valentine had committed to his parents. But what was to stop him from hating her and from leaving her if he did know? She wouldn't exactly blame him if he did. It would be reasonable for him to hate her, after all. She was related to a sick, _fucking _psycho—

There it was again…the word 'fuck'. Clary had never used that word before, not even in her thoughts…until now, until this whole stupid, _fucked-up _mess named Valentine happened.

"Clary, angel…do you want to tell me what's on your mind?" Jace asked her gently as he noticed that Clary had stopped crying and was deep in her own thoughts.

Her guilt flooding her again, Clary's jaw unconsciously shook and she let out a tiny whimper. Jace rubbed her back comfortingly as she shivered against him, slowly letting out more tears against his neck.

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you," he cooed into her ear.

Despite her tears, Clary blushed at Jace's new endearment for her—'sweetheart'. It sounded so lyrical, so meaningful coming from his mouth.

Jace drew Clary's head back from his neck gently, and leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. It was an innocent kiss, a soft kiss—the light brushing of lips against lips. It was a simple kiss meant to give solace, to show Clary that he'd meant his word to her—that he would always be there for her.

The kiss didn't last long as Clary pulled away first, hiccupping softly.

Jace frowned at the look on her face. She'd regained somewhat of her composure, but was now looking at him with a mixture of fear, longing and guilt—like she had back in the stables, when she'd_turned back_ into herself.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked her in the same tender voice.

Clary drew in a deep breath before letting it out through her nose slowly. The still-ongoing psychological warfare inside her head made her throat feel unbelievably tight, as if it were clogged, but she pushed on anyway, before she could turn back on her decision, before she could stop herself from saying the words that she needed to say.

"I'm so sorry, Jace. I'm sorry for doubting you, for saying all those mean things to you. I'm so sorry I pushed you away from me," she said breathlessly.

"Shh, Clary, it's okay. I forgive you. Tell me what's wrong," he coaxed her.

Clary swallowed the growing lump in her throat, barely lifting her chin up to meet Jace's eyes. "Promise me you won't get mad," she told him in a cracked voice.

"I promise," he said, gently stroking her cheek.

Clary nodded and pressed her face against Jace's neck again. She was going to tell Jace the truth, consequences be damned. She owed it to him, after all the shit she'd put him through tonight.

"I-I went to V-Valentine's s-study today to look for ev-evidence," she said, the tremor evident in her voice.

Despite everything, Jace found his heart lifting with joy for the first time that night, upon hearing that Clary had taken his suggestion and had wasted no time to snoop around in her father's office. And that was not all that made him feel happy—Clary had actually referred to Valentine by his name, not 'Father'. It definitely meant something. He didn't know why she had told him to not get mad at her; wasn't this supposed to be good news?

"_Valentine_—he had a secret room in his study. I—I found his j-journal and I read everything… You were right, Jace. You were right about everything. _Valentine's completely deranged_… He's been conspiring with the Verlacs for years. He murdered your parents out of his own spite and jealousy. And God, he even killed my own mother and Luke because they had been conspiring against him…" She trailed off, gasping as she broke into harsh sobs.

Why? Why did she have to have such a cruel father? Why couldn't he have left her mother and Luke alone? Why couldn't he have let them be, so that she could at least have one parent and a pretend-father figure that wasn't demented and hell-bent on making everyone else's lives a living hell? _Why, why, why?_

Clary sobbed harder and Jace just held her to him tightly, one hand running up and down her back while the other tangled itself in her hair, waiting patiently as Clary tried to compose herself.

"A-and that's not ev-even the worst of it…" She tried again, her chest heaving unevenly against the sobs she was fighting so hard to repress. "Your parents…he—he had his men c-chop up Stephen's b-body into pi-pieces and had them scattered around the Forbidden Forest…" Jace's blood ran cold, and he began shaking against Clary, whether in pure anger or despair he didn't know.

"And your _mom_—" She broke off, a strangled gasp escaping her throat as she sobbed even harder. She pulled her head away from his neck to look at him, her teary green eyes piercing his gold ones. "I saw your mom's _head_…_preserved in a glass jar in his room_," she choked in a barely audible whisper.

There it was—she'd _finally_ said it out loud. She'd finally told him the truth about the 'thing' that had haunted her mind all night.

Jace's amber eyes widened in absolute shock and he could have sworn his heart had stopped beating at Clary's revelation. He tasted bile in his mouth and unintentionally, he pushed Clary off of him, bounding frantically out of the room.

He didn't know what he was running away from; he just knew that he needed to get away, away from everything.

As soon as his feet entered the living room, Magnus and Simon jumped up off of the couch and tried to ask him what was wrong, but Jace pushed past them hard and ran straight out of Magnus's house.

He ran, until the nausea became too unbearable for him and he emptied his stomach out onto the cobblestoned ground, his chest heaving with dry sobs at the same time.

God, how much more shit was he supposed to handle? How much longer was he supposed to hold himself together before _everything_, everything that he'd held inside him for all these years, were to break?

As Jace continued to throw up, he suddenly felt small hands on his back, tracing smooth patterns lightly, comfortingly, and after a long time, his retching finally ceased. He swiped at his mouth with the corner of his sleeve, gasping a little for air. His throat felt dry and scraped, like sandpaper, and he felt hollow, yet, livid at the same time.

"_I'm going to kill him_," he said in a hoarse voice, his tawny eyes burning with blind fury. "I'm going to kill him," he repeated, his voice stronger this time.

"I know," Clary said in a surprisingly more composed state, her green eyes brighter and clearer as she looked at Jace.

It wasn't that she'd completely gotten over her trauma; the _ghosts _were still there, lingering at the back of her mind, but Clary knew that despite how easy it was to succumb to her weaknesses, she couldn't let herself be overwhelmed by them anymore. She'd acknowledged them, she'd _accepted_ them, and in time, she would learn to deal with them. Jace_ knew_—and him knowing had,_surprisingly_, and however selfish it might sound, helped her ease the burden that had threatened to crush her. Now, it felt like they were sharing the load together; she was no longer alone.

They would get through this together, Clary promised herself. She would give herself time, as she would give Jace the time to process everything. But in the meantime, she wouldn't let herself crumble again. She had to be strong and slowly pick herself up. And for now, she needed to be strong, to be there for Jace, to give him the comfort that he _needed_.

She would be there for him even if he were to hate her, even if he were to push her away. He deserved that much from her, after all the sacrifices he'd made for her. No matter how much it worried her, _scared _her that Jace would turn her away for good, that her confession about what Valentine had done to his parents would cause an irreparable rift between them, she wouldn't leave his side._Not again._

Clary turned Jace around to face her and much to her relief, he didn't push her away. Feeling encouraged, she gently rested her palm against the side of his face and began to stroke his cheek lightly.

Jace's eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into Clary's touch. Slowly, he felt his anger and anguish ebb away, replaced by comfort and reassurance. He sighed contentedly, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.

Despite how amazed he was that Clary had ran after him, he didn't feel the need to look the gift horse in the mouth. He only took it as a positive sign, that Clary loved and cared for him enough to push aside her own frailty just to make sure that he was okay—as he would have done for her.

It was, after all, how their love worked; they were each other's calm in the storm, the pillar that held the other up in times of vulnerability and weakness. It was an unspoken instinctual reaction he only now noticed they shared; that when one of them was weak, the other would, naturally, be compelled to be the stronger one, even if they weren't.

"Come on," Clary urged him gently, taking his large hand into her small one and leading him back towards Magnus's house.

As they walked into the living room, Magnus and Simon both gave them questioning looks, but Clary firmly shook her head at them, telling them not to pry.

"Magnus, may we have a glass of water, please?" Clary asked him sweetly as she rubbed soothing circles onto Jace's hammering chest. He had his arms encircled around her waist, his eyes closed and his head resting on her shoulder.

Magnus returned her smile with a grin of his own. "Anything for you, biscuit," he said with a wink before disappearing into the kitchen.

Moments later, Magnus reappeared, a glass of water in his hands. He handed it to Jace, who reluctantly disentangled himself from Clary and accepted it with a mumbled 'thanks'. He chugged the water down greedily, the coolness of the liquid soothing his parched throat and washing away the taste of vomit from his mouth a little.

"So, are you going to share with us on what's going on?" Simon broke the silence, an eyebrow raised enquiringly.

Clary and Jace exchanged a look with each other before Clary turned her gaze back to her friends.

"Simon, Magnus…meet Jace," Clary introduced the gladiator to her companions. "My boyfriend," she added softly after a thoughtful pause, causing Jace to reach his hand out for hers and squeeze it lightly in his grip.

However insignificant the tiny detail might have been in light of everything else that'd occurred that night, Jace felt his heart swell with both pride and relief over Clary introducing him as her boyfriend. It wasn't so much of her acknowledgement that'd touched him as much as the _surety_ in her voice when she'd said it—as if she had no qualms whatsoever about their relationship, or of_what_ he was to her.

"You're a Herondale," Magnus observed in a knowing tone.

Instantly, Clary and Jace snapped their heads towards Magnus's direction, their faces paling drastically. How did Magnus even know that Jace was a Herondale? Was he going to give them away, give Jace's real identity away?

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Calm down, lovebirds. My lips are sealed," he said in a faux bored tone.

Clary edged closer towards Jace and he draped his arm over her shoulder. "Magnus, how do you know that Jace is a Herondale?" she asked on her boyfriend's behalf.

Magnus gave her a tiny smirk before his cat-like eyes slowly landed on Jace, fixating on him intensely. "When I was younger, before I became a doctor, I was an apprentice to healer named Ragnor Fell. He used to serve the Herondales, so you could say that I've had the privilege of running into Jace's father, Stephen, several times before. Jace certainly looks and acts a lot like his father," Magnus shrugged, "and _I_, for one, know for a fact that the Herondales had a son named 'Jace', so really, it isn't that hard to connect the dots together."

"So, you're the lost prince?" Simon finally spoke up again, his brown eyes flickering with a look of respect that he usually reserved for authority.

Jace nodded. "But for now, I'm just simply known as _Shadowhunter_," Jace stressed on his gladiator name, an underlying warning to Simon that he had better keep his mouth shut about his real identity…_or else._

"Shadowhunter," Simon repeated. "Right."

Jace nodded his approval at Simon before fleetingly glancing at the clock on the wall. It was just slightly over an hour until midnight; Jace needed to get back in the stables soon. With Michael gone, the warden, Emil Pangborn, had assigned one of his own guards from the barracks, Mark Blackthorn, as Jace's temporary escort to and fro his slave duties. He was likeable enough for a guard, but Jace doubted that he would be able to keep his mouth shut if he were to find Jace missing from the stables by the end of his shift.

"I need to get back to the stables soon," Jace said, looking at Clary warily. What if she were to fall apart again when he wasn't there with her?

He ran a hand through his hair worriedly when another abrupt thought hit him and he quickly turned his attention back to Magnus. "Where's Alec, Magnus? I thought he was your assistant," Jace said, wondering why Alec wasn't at Magnus's house when it was clearly his shift-time.

"Alexander's gone out to do my errands, like he usually does at this hour. He'll only be back when it's midnight," Magnus replied, a tender and affectionate look in his cat-like eyes as he mentioned the blue-eyed gladiator's name.

Jace nodded once in response, secretly a little relieved over the fact that he would not be running into Alec here. It would have been awkward for all them to standing in the same room, in the presence of their prominent other-halves, seeing as how Jace hadn't spoken to his _parabatai_ since the day at the training field when the two had argued with each other over their forbidden relationships with their respective partners. Jace had been meaning to sort things out with Alec and apologize to him for his insensitive remarks, but so far, he hadn't been able to find the right moment to confront him.

He'd work things out with Alec tomorrow, Jace decided. For now, he was going to spend as much time with Clary as he possibly could before he was due to return to the stables.

"Clary, do you want to go back to the palace now?" Jace asked as he absentmindedly rubbed her back.

A look of panic passed over Clary's face. She bit the inside of the cheek and began sending cursory glances to Magnus. "Um, actually…I was kind of hoping that I could stay here tonight, with Magnus…" she said in a tight but quiet voice, her knees beginning to tremble a little. An image of Celine's head fleetingly flashed through her mind and Clary quickly grabbed Jace's wrist, her nails subconsciously digging into his skin, as if the gesture was the only thing anchoring her to reality.

Wordlessly, and with a look of understanding on his face, Jace wrapped an arm around her waist, squeezing her side gently to aid her through her flashback.

"Jon's with Valentine in Alicante at Sebastian's coronation ceremony, and won't be back anytime soon…and I'm still a little shaken about everything—I don't think I want to go back to my room alone," Clary continued, her green eyes looking slightly dazed as she struggled to focus on the present.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze from the floor, willing herself to concentrate instead on the planes and details of Magnus's face. "If that's okay with you, Magnus?" she asked the doctor, desperation and fear written plainly in her green eyes.

A tiny crease appeared in between Magnus's eyebrows, indicating his worry for Clary, but he otherwise gave nothing away as he smiled at her. "You know you're always welcome here, biscuit," he said cheerily, masking the relief he felt over her suggestion to stay over without needing for him to prompt her. He'd been meaning to keep a close eye on her anyway, just in case her trauma decided to make a reappearance. Judging by the look on her face, he knew that a relapse wasn't that far off. "Besides, based on our little stunt this evening, you're supposed to be down with food poisoning—"

Jace nudged Clary on the shoulder and she looked up at him, noting the silent question on his face—'food poisoning?' as if he meant to say. Clary weakly shrugged, knowing she would be talking to him about it later. She still hadn't told Jace everything yet, like about her little conspiracy with her brother, and she knew that no matter the circumstance, she would have to get everything off her chest by tonight. She just _had to_.

"—So it might actually be a good idea for you to stay here tonight; we could say that your food poisoning worsened overnight and therefore, I brought you over to my house because you needed to be in my constant care," Magnus finished.

"Yeah, that'd be great, Magnus," Clary replied, not really listening to him anymore. She really just wanted to get out of here, to be with Jace—alone. The stifling feeling was already beginning to return in her chest, and she was all too aware that the longer she stayed there, with Magnus's and Simon's eyes on her, gauging her reactions as if anticipating another breakdown from her, the worse she would feel. They didn't understand the magnitude of her problems, and truth be told, she didn't want them to. It was between her and Jace.

"You just want to get out here and cuddle with lover-boy, don't you?" Magnus asked her knowingly, an impish smirk on his face.

Clary flushed a deep red, causing the three men in the room to chuckle at her.

Okay, maybe that was another reason why she wanted to be alone with Jace, she silently admitted to herself. She'd missed him far too much during their brief separation, and she would be lying if she said that the idea of catching up on a few cuddles and kisses with him weren't an inviting thought.

"Go on—to the bedroom." Magnus waved them away.

"Sheldon, you stay put." He gestured to Simon sternly, eliciting an annoyed eyeroll from the brown-haired boy. Magnus mistaking his name for something else entirely was such a common reoccurrence that Simon found it pointless to even try to correct him. "Just in case these kids get ahead of themselves and lose track of time. You'll go back with Jace to the stables later so that he can have a valid cover as to why he was missing during his clocking-out time. After all, you're supposed to be in charge of his duties anyway," Magnus said to Simon who only nodded, his face turning slightly green at the possibility of what Clary and Jace might be doing together later during their little 'alone-time'.

"Shoo, kiddies! Off to the bedroom, now!" Magnus ordered the couple, noticing that they were still standing at the same spot in the living room.

Jace chuckled and pulled a blushing Clary towards the direction of the bedroom where she had been residing in earlier.

"Oh, and Clary…" Magnus drawled out as the couple was about to enter the bedroom. The two of them stopped and turned around to look at Magnus, who began waggling his eyebrows at them suggestively. "Don't do anything I wouldn't. I know I said that I'd do anything for you, biscuit, but I'm afraid that changing the bed sheets for you after your love-time with Jace does not fall under that category," he said.

At that comment, both Clary and Jace turned a bright pink.

"Yeah, um, uh…" Jace scratched the back of his neck nervously as Clary tightened her grip on his hand. "We'll keep that in mind, Magnus," he said before quickly tugging Clary into the room and slamming the door shut behind them.

* * *

As soon as they were alone again in the room, Clary and Jace leaned their backs against the door, letting out a sigh in unison.

Jace turned his head towards Clary, at the exact same time that she turned her own head towards him. They both smiled at each other before Jace pulled Clary towards him and kissed her softly on her forehead.

"Jace?" she called him softly, causing his amber eyes to rest on her. "We still need to talk. About everything. There's still a lot more that I need to tell you about," Clary said. Her tone was slightly hesitant, but the determination was bright in her green eyes.

Jace couldn't help but smile at her. They were making progress—a lot of progress—and in such short amount of time, too. Clary was willingly making an effort to open up to him; she wasn't going to shut herself down anymore, and that made Jace feel beyond relieved and happy. He'd been afraid that he would lose the girl he'd fallen in love with forever, but now, he was certain that he wouldn't.

Seeing her here, standing right before him was proof enough. Though she was far from being fully recovered from her trauma, the Clary he'd fallen in love with was still _there_, somewhere deep down inside, fighting to exorcise her demons. She was vulnerable, but she was still the strong-willed woman he'd first met. _She was still his Clary._

"All right, sweetheart," Jace replied sweetly as he gently took Clary's hand in his and led her towards the direction of the bed.

They lounged themselves comfortably in the middle of the bed, their legs stretched out in front of them, Clary's arms wrapped around Jace's waist while her head lay on his chest. She closed her eyes fleetingly, listening to the calming rhythm of his steady heartbeat to help her to gather her thoughts. Jace had his own arms hung around her shoulders loosely, his cheek resting on top of her head.

Clary took in a deep breath, and then, without any pauses or interruptions in between, she launched into a full explanation of other details that she hadn't told Jace yet—about Valentine's treaties with the Verlacs; about how Valentine had planned for Clary to marry Sebastian to unite Idris and Alicante; about the poverty in Idris due to Valentine's rule, how Valentine had been collecting taxes from the people to fund the games; and how Jonathan had been secretly helping the poor families in Idris. She made sure not to omit a single fact; Jace deserved to know everything, and she didn't want there to be any secrets between them anymore.

At the end of it all, Jace was fuming again, his breaths heavy and his body tense. After a while, he said in a hard voice, "You're not going to marry Sebastian. I won't let him take you away from me."

Clary rolled her eyes, barely concealing her smile. Any traces of the crushing weight that she had been shouldering on her own before now felt lighter. "Seriously, Jace. Out of everything I just told you, you picked to comment on my wedding with Sebastian?" Clary said in disbelief.

He looked at her seriously. "Yes. Because I choose to be selfish; and besides, you know that whatever happens to you matters the most to me," Jace said earnestly as he began to stroke her cheek.

Clary's eyes softened at his words, knowing how much he meant them. And for the first time that night, she allowed herself a genuine smile, remembering how Jace had stuck by her side the whole night; how he hadn't shied away from her, even as she'd broken down and had very nearly lost herself in front of him. It really awed her, how he had faithfully stayed by her side even despite having found out everything about what her wretched father had done. He was healing her wounds, even without realizing it himself, and even despite all the hurt she'd caused him before.

"I know," Clary said. "But on the bright side of things, at least we know that the wedding isn't until after the games. Besides, with his duties as the new king in Alicante, Sebastian's bound to be busy…the likelihood of him bothering us anytime soon is slim to none. For now, we need to focus on what we're going to do to defeat Valentine," she said in a soothing voice, hoping to placate her boyfriend.

Jace was silent again for a long time, and Clary watched intently as his hard features slowly melted away, his molten eyes turning into a warm honey as they rested on her. Then, came the three words she didn't expect to hear—

"Marry me, Clary," Jace said, his velvety voice filled with so much resolve and determination.

Clary pulled out of Jace's embrace and averted her green eyes away from him, blushing furiously. "You know I'll marry you someday, Jace," she said shyly.

Jace intertwined their hands together, holding them up to his chest. "No, I mean marry me before the games. Tomorrow, the night after that, I don't care. Just as long as you marry me," he said.

Clary hesitated, her eyes still avoiding Jace's. How could Jace possibly want to marry someone like her? As far as Clary knew, she was, to put it nicely, in a 'delicate' state of mind—an _unstable_person. She didn't even know if she could handle herself, so how could she possibly burden Jace by becoming his wife?

"I don't know, Jace. Everything is just moving too fast," Clary stammered, "I'm still having a hard time trying to process everything that's happened today, and—I don't know, but…this all seems like such a rash decision to me. I don't want to marry you just because you want to stake your claim on me before Sebastian does," she argued with him weakly.

Jace sighed. "That's not it, Clary," he said, running his hand through his hair again. "You love me, don't you?" he asked in an almost desperate tone.

Clary met his eyes then and nodded assertively. Of course she did, Clary thought.

Jace cupped her face in his hands, his aureate eyes shining with nothing but total honesty. "Then you know that the reason why I want to marry you is because I love you. There's only two months left before the games, Clary, and as much as I hate to admit it, there's always that hanging possibility that I might fail to kill Valentine and our lives would only fall into an even deeper shit." He paused for a second, gathering his words carefully.

"The point I'm trying to get across here is that time is ticking for us. And if I fail, I don't want to go down as just Jace the gladiator, son of Stephen and Celine Herondale. I want to go down as your husband, who fought for you, _who fought for us_," he said, his eyes locked with Clary's intensely.

"I know I don't have much to offer you, Clary, but I promise you—_I promise you,_ that for as long as my heart is still beating in my chest, that for as long as there is still breath flowing through my body, that I will do everything in my power to protect you. And most importantly of all, _I promise_ _you _that I will love you until the day I die. Hell, if there's a life after that, I'll love you then. Because from the moment I saw you, Clary, my heart has belonged to you completely."

Tears spilled over Clary's cheeks at Jace's proclamation and at his heart-filled promises, and he lovingly brushed them away with the pad of his thumbs. "Wouldn't you rather be my wife, for even just a little while, than to have to be forced to become Sebastian's for the rest of your life?" he asked her softly.

Clary's heart melted at Jace's heartfelt words, and before she even realized it, she was nodding her head vigorously. "Yes, Jace. Yes! Of course I want to be your wife. Even it's just for the next two months, I don't want to belong to anyone but you. I love you."

Without waiting for him to reply, Clary pulled Jace's head down towards her and she brought her mouth up to his. As their lips met, they glided across each other's gently, yet, fervently as always. Strangely enough though, Jace was being noticeably more careful and hesitant than he usually was. As Clary's tongue flicked across his lips, seeking entrance, Jace pulled away, leaving her to frown at him for his rejection, her lips pouting a little.

In spite of everything that had happened that night, Clary's self-conscious teenage mind bubbled to the surface. Why was Jace being so hesitant to kiss her? Was it because he believed her to be fragile and therefore, she shouldn't be kissing him like that? Or was it because he was having second thoughts and had changed his mind about wanting to marry her, because he'd just now realized that she wasn't good enough for him?

Much to Clary's surprise, Jace's response to her silent questions was, "Sweetheart, you should know that the only reason why I refuse to ravish your lips right now is because I probably still taste like vomit." He blushed at her self-consciously, and instantly, Clary's frown fell, replaced by an amused grin.

"You know, as gross as this may sound to you, I don't actually care," she said firmly, earning a chuckle from him. She reached her hands up and cupped the back of his neck, playing with the soft strands of blonde hair lingering on the nape on his neck. "I like hearing you call me by those pet names—'_angel', 'sweetheart'_," she said absentmindedly.

Jace smirked. "There's more where that came from," he said huskily.

She nuzzled her nose against Jace's playfully. "You're a hopeless romantic," she teased him. "Do you want me to call you by any pet names? I quite like the idea of calling you 'Jacey'; I think it makes you sound so _sweet_," she said, hugging him.

Jace kissed her forehead softly, letting his lips linger there as he spoke. "'Sweet' and 'Jace' never go together in the same sentence, future Mrs. Herondale." He paused, pondering over their decision to wed. "Are you all right with that? Of becoming a Herondale?" he asked her quietly, as if afraid that she would violently protest against the idea of being associated with his family name.

Clary raised her head from Jace's chest, her emerald green eyes gleaming with nothing but happiness. "I'd be more than honored," she said before leaning her head towards his.

And this time, when their lips finally collided, Jace responded to Clary like he usually did. They kissed, a feverish clash of lips, tongues and teeth, smiling goofily against each other's mouths. Their lips briefly disconnected as they resurfaced for air, and then, Clary playfully pushed Jace back against the covers before climbing on top of him and re-attacking his lips with as much love and passion as she could muster in her tiny body. Jace's hands roamed her sides and up her back, before they tangled themselves in her fiery-red hair.

When they broke apart, Clary leaned her face down and boldly kissed the hollow of his throat, causing Jace to growl softly. "Clary…"

"I just remembered—" Clary suddenly perked up. "I have something for you, Jace," she said, rolling off of him and urgently digging into the pocket of her dress to retrieve the Herondale ring. She brought it up to his face, smiling at his stunned expression at the sight of his family ring.

Their moment of passion over, Jace sat up against the headboard. "You stole it from your father?" he asked quietly, his eyes trained on the ring, though he made no move to take it from her.

"Technically, it's not stealing when it doesn't belong to him. I'm returning it to its rightful owner—_You_," she said, reaching for his hand and prying his fingers open to place the ring in his palm.

Instead of taking it from her, Jace placed his own hand on top of hers, enclosing her fingers around the ring. "Keep it. It belongs to you now," he said softly, his other hand brushing the stray curls away from her face.

"But Jace—"

"No buts, Clary. It's for you. Besides, don't you think it's a bit odd for the girl to give the guy a ring when they get engaged?" he asked with an arched eyebrow, obviously teasing her.

Clary puffed her cheeks out in annoyance, and Jace chuckled at her. "Keep it safe, for me. Hopefully, we'll be able to make through this, and one day, when we have our own child, we'll pass on that ring to him," he said, causing heat to rise from her cheeks.

"You want children?" Clary asked him meekly.

Jace's smile faltered for only a brief second as he considered Clary's question. He didn't even realize that in the heat of the moment, he'd unwittingly admitted his want for children, a want he never knew he had. Truthfully, it would have seemed like such a far-fetched and ludicrous idea, with him being a gladiator and all, and for the longest time, Jace had never even thought of the possibility of settling down and having a family to call his own.

But since the redheaded princess had waltzed into his life, she had changed everything Jace thought he already knew and wanted; she'd made him see that life was far beyond just revenge, that despite the tragedies in their lives, there was always, no matter how small, hope. Hope to recover, hope to move on, hope to live for something greater and meaningful.

"Of course," Jace replied without another moment of hesitation, his lips twitching into a wide grin. "With both of us combined, we'll make the perfect babies. Though, we have to make sure to keep them away from your brother. Wouldn't want him to influence them with his juvenile behavior," he joked.

Clary slapped him across the chest in jest. "Speak for yourself. You're the king of all juvenile behavior," she retorted with an eyeroll.

"So you say. But you have to admit—it was my inane wit that you fell so hopelessly in love with. Well, that_,_ _and_ my charmingly good looks," Jace said, sticking his tongue out at her.

"Arrogant bastard. Why do I even put up with you?" she muttered.

"Because you know, without a sliver of a doubt, that you, my dear Clary, are hopelessly and irrevocably in love with me," he pointed out cockily, eliciting another eyeroll from her.

"Alas, that is _unfortunately_ true," Clary returned sarcastically, before pulling Jace down to her roughly for another kiss.

* * *

**A/N:**

Ahh, anyone saw the proposal coming? Like ever? If you didn't, well, then I must congratulate myself for surprising you guys for the third time in a row!

YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS CHAPTER?

When I first wrote this story, one of the first things I planned was for Clace to have a secret wedding, so yeah, that's why this is happening. Plus, I wanted some relief from all the tragedy and shit that's happened so far, and to give Clace just that tiny bit of happiness before the bigger shit goes down...makes sense?

Otherwise, you guys will all be suffering from piles of devastating heartache and brain ache from reading all the bad things. I mean, who wants to just read about psychotic Valentine? Clace deserves a much needed break. And after all that they've seen and been through together, I say their relationship deserved to be taken to the next level because as far as I'm concerned, they've seen each other at their worsts (so far) and yet, they still remain deeply in love and loyal to each other.

Do I find it inappropriate that Jace is proposing to Clary when she's clearly still vulnerable? No, I don't. He's **not** taking advantage of her or anything; quite the contrary, he's doing it to make them both, and especially Clary, happy. Plus, as you can see (read), the more Jace is with Clary, the more she heals, and vice versa. Hence the chapter title 'Stronger Together'.

(God, I'm so worried I'm going to get skeptical reviews)

ANYWAYS, this is **important**. Did any of you guys read the news about the TMI series being turned into a TV SHOW instead of being continued with the next CoA film? Honestly, I don't know how to react to this news. _Happy_ because that means they'll get to still portray the TMI world after all and stay truer to the books without omitting all the incredibly important details, but unbelievably _depressed_ because does this mean that they're going to be recasting all the characters? IDK, but I'm honestly extremely attached to the actors who played the characters in the movie so I'm not sure if I'll be happy if they suddenly change the cast. Though that's likely to happen. Your thoughts on this, guys?

Yeah I know. Another long A/N. SHOOT ME. But hey, the next chapter's going to be full of awesome Clace stuff so...

XO!

~N


	18. Chapter 17: The Union

**Author's Note:**

Woohoo, look who's back with another update!:)

Big thanks for all the wonderful reviews the last chapter. You guys are **all** really awesome and I hope that you will continue to support me with this story. And thanks for all the motivational support, it really means a lot to me;) To my guest reviewer Kailey, since I can't PM you, all your burning questions will be answered in this chapter.

Alrighty, so... this is a huge Clace chapter! Hope you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it out:)

**Disclaimer:** Cassandra Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 17: The Union**

"I'm sorry about what I said to you the other day," Jace said to Alec as they sat on the grass in the training field after dinner.

They were watching the sunset, mesmerized by the sight of the flaming red orb as it slowly dipped beneath the horizon, giving rise to the change in colors in the sky from orange to red, before it finally lingered on a chalky mauve.

Alec sighed after a long time. "It's fine, Jace. I should have known better that secrets like that never last," he replied, his face turning into a deep shade of scarlet as he glanced around the field to make sure that no one else was within hearing distance of the two friends. Despite how long Alec had been with Magnus, his sexuality had never been a topic that he was remotely comfortable with talking about. He could only imagine how much his gladiator peers would shun him for being gay if they knew; it was the only reason Alec felt so strongly about keeping it a secret.

Jace nodded. "If it means anything to you, I don't actually care that you're with Magnus. I've had my run-ins with him before; he's a little eccentric for my taste, but seems like an all-rounded good guy," Jace said, remembering how Magnus had helped him and Clary the night before, and prior to that even. "None of it changes the fact that you're still my best friend, my _parabatai_. I don't see you as anything less than the boy that I met all those years ago, so you shouldn't feel ashamed about who you really are," he reassured him.

"Thanks, Jace," Alec said gratefully after a long time.

Jace smiled at him. "You're welcome."

"So…how's everything between you and Clary? You seem to be a whole lot more focused in training now. Did you manage to patch things up with her?" Alec asked, trying to keep the conversation going without drawing any of the attention to himself.

Jace nodded, smiling wistfully to himself. "Yeah, we've gotten back together again. Clary found out the truth about everything. She saw something_…_" he trailed off distractedly, subtly shaking his head to himself.

Feelings of revolt and disgust brew up in him at the very thought of what Valentine had done to his mother, and he pressed down a firm hand against his stomach to abate the rising nausea.

_'No,'_ Jace finally decided. _Parabatai_ or not, he needn't tell Alec about what Clary had seen. For now, the less people knew about it, the better. Besides, as far as he was concerned, he'd barely been able to come to terms with the grisly truth himself. To verbalize that his mother was now nothing more than a head preserved in a jar—Valentine's 'prize', for that matter—was a sickening, _sickening_ thought that he'd rather not say aloud for fear that it only would only make everything seem all the more _truer_. He didn't want to think of his mother as that. It was bad enough witnessing her death.

Jace cleared his throat. "It wasn't easy for her," he said, choosing his words carefully, "finding out that the only parent she has left in this world is really nothing more than a certified nut-job, but…it's definitely brought us closer." Then lowering his voice, Jace said with a large grin, "Clary and I are getting married."

Alec's blue eyes widened in surprise at Jace's unexpected revelation, and for a while, he just gaped at the blonde-haired boy. "That's—that's great news, Jace. I really hope everything turns out well for the two of you," he said with an edge of uncertainty to his voice.

"But?" Jace probed him knowingly, sensing Alec's distress.

"But what about Valentine? And you told me that Clary's getting married to Sebastian," Alec said cautiously.

Jace felt his temper flare at the mention of Sebastian and Valentine, but he quickly masked his anger with a cool façade. "Clary's only _supposed_ to marry Sebastian after the games. We're getting married as soon as she informs her brother about our plans… And as for Valentine, I'm planning to take him down in the arena after my match during the games. I'll call him out and expose him for every wretched deed he's ever done, and once I have him where I want him, I'll challenge him to fight me and finish him off once and for all," Jace said confidently.

"And you think that'll work? You know Valentine will have your head on a platter for stepping out of line. He'll never agree to fight you," Alec said skeptically.

Jace rolled his eyes. "The people always love a good fight…they'll never let Valentine turn me down. If he orders to have me publicly killed in the arena, he'll only risk losing the people's favor in his leadership. And besides, once everyone knows who I really am, or at least, once they've heard about Valentine's crimes, they'll be on my side. And once that happens, Valentine will have no choice but to accept my challenge and face me," he said steadily.

Noticing the frown on Alec's face, Jace continued, "I know how hard it is for you to trust me on this, Alec, but _trust_ _me_ when I say that no one wants a coward or a fraud for a leader. As far as I know, the people have been suffering long enough in Idris because of Valentine's rule. The only reason they've kept quiet about it so far is because Valentine's been using fear to control them. The people need _hope_, Alec…and I'm going to be the one to give them that."

Resolution glistened in Jace's golden eyes and Alec was immediately silenced, whatever doubts he'd initially wanted to voice out died in his throat. "Whatever Valentine chooses, he's doomed to the people's wrath once he's been exposed. It's really just a matter of death by my hand, or death by the people—"

_"Shadowhunter!"_ Emil's voice summoned Jace from a distance, instantly stopping his conversation with Alec short.

Jace met Emil's eyes from across the field, and he was surprised when he saw Jonathan standing next to him. He was wearing a light blue button-down shirt, his white-blonde hair tousled, and his green eyes sparkling with hidden sense of mischief.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning for training, Alec," Jace said before getting onto his feet and heading over to Emil and Jonathan.

"Your Highness," Jace greeted Jonathan cordially, to which the green-eyed prince nodded at him in return. "What brings you here, good prince?" Jace asked, a little curious as to why Jonathan was there to see him. He could have waited for Jace to show up later at the stables after all, if he had wanted to speak with him.

"Prince Jonathan here has come to fetch you," Emil answered for him. Jace raised his eyebrow in a silent question. "He's requested you as his personal slave, so from now on, you belong to him as well as to the arena. You will answer to him and carry out whatever duties he so pleases you to do," Emil explained in a dull tone.

"Also, you will no longer be required to return to the barracks until the morning of each day," Jonathan chimed in formally, though Jace didn't miss the conspiratorial undertone in his voice. "I have arranged for your own accommodations in the palace so that I can easily acquire your services. You will be staying in the servant's quarters each night. As for the rest of it, I will come by to escort you to the palace each evening after your dinner here, as well as walk you back to the barracks each dawn. Understood?" Jonathan asked, maintaining the authority in his voice.

Jace nodded, and Jonathan turned to Emil. "Well, now that that's settled, we'll see you tomorrow morning," he said with a curt nod.

"As you shall, Your Highness," Emil replied, bowing his head to the prince.

Once they were out of earshot, Jonathan tugged Jace by the arm and began snickering lightly. "So… _Jace_," he lingered on the gladiator's name, testing it out on his tongue. "Clarissa has told me all about your plans to elope together," he said in his natural teasing voice—a stark contrast to his formal demeanor moments ago.

Jace raised an eyebrow at him. "Ah, I take it Clary has brought you up to speed on everything then. What say you, big brother, do we have your blessings?" he jibed good-naturedly.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Duh. Why else would I be here, sticking my neck out for the two of you?" he said before letting out a dramatic sigh.

"And to think that you two were supposed to be the ones making all the plans…both so eager to get married and yet neither of you had the foresight to think about your wedding and marriage arrangements… As always, it's big brother Jon to the rescue!" Jonathan exclaimed as though he was the ultimate savior.

Jace shrugged at Jonathan's comment before biting his lip in thought. "You're not serious about me having to sleep in the servant's quarters, are you?" Jace asked hopefully.

At that, Jonathan's joking demeanor changed to suit a more serious stance. "Of course not," he gritted out, his jaw somewhat more tense. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain a nonchalant expression. "I do not think that it's fair for the two of you to be married, only to be deprived of spending time with each other," Jon said, causing Jace to smile a little at his thoughtfulness.

"On the other hand, that does not mean that I'm happy about your intentions to defile my sister," he added sternly, his protective older brother side surfacing.

As they continued to walk, Jonathan's face began to soften a little and he gave Jace a grateful smile. "I am, somewhat, glad though that you'll be the one marrying her. At least if you're with Clary, Sebastian won't be able to touch her," he said. "Valentine has just announced at breakfast today that Clary was 'taking too long' to choose herself a husband so he 'graciously' took it upon himself to choose Sebastian for her. It's _amazing_ really, that…_man_—how he thinks that he can control everything; how he thinks that everything he's doing is for the greater good. I just want to protect my sister, Jace, and I know that I can count on you to do just that," he finished, clapping Jace on the back.

"That's all I ever want," Jace returned sincerely. "Thanks, Jonathan. I really do appreciate you helping us."

The white-haired prince nodded. "Clary's still shaken up about everything…" Jonathan said absentmindedly, recalling how his sister had been more alert and hypersensitive earlier. She had practically almost jumped out of her seat when he had dropped his fork during breakfast, and had barely been able to control herself from wincing each time the cutleries clinked and clattered. And not to mention, she could barely look at their father without flinching or breaking down at the horrific memories of what he'd done.

Granted, Clary deserved the credit for being strong enough to put up a front, but Jonathan knew that if he hadn't been there to hold her hand the entire time, she would have easily fallen apart within seconds. Even now, she had to be under someone else's watch—Izzy's or Magnus's—to make sure that she was kept grounded to reality.

"As much as I hate to admit this, Jace, I can't help my sister as much as you can. Clary trusts me, but not as much as she trusts _you_—that much I can tell…I see it in her face every time she talks about you—like she's not afraid to let her guard down around you," Jon confessed, looking mildly wounded by the fact that his sister wasn't as close to him as she used to be. "Whatever it is, she needs you…the two of you may be young, but I have faith that your marriage will only help her stand through this stronger."

"Thank you, Jonathan," Jace said again, not really sure how to respond to Clary's brother other than to thank him for instilling his faith in him to look after Clary.

Jon nodded. "But all that aside, despite my…approval of your marriage, I don't want either of you to let yourselves get too carried away. We can't afford to get sidetracked from our plans to thwart Valentine. His crimes have gone on for far too long and it's about time someone puts an end to him. I'll do what I can to help, but we are going to need to work together," Jonathan said in a serious tone.

"Are you sure you're fine with this though? Me killing Valentine? I mean, he's your father, after all," Jace said carefully.

Jonathan scoffed in obvious resentment. "The man who murdered my mother is not my father," he simply spat.

Jace nodded thoughtfully but chose not to comment.

"And for the love of God, please call me Jon instead of Jonathan. It makes me sound like an old man," he continued in an almost whiny tone.

Jace chuckled heartily at his request. "So be it, _Jon_," Jace said mockingly.

"By God. You and Clary are the same. Always making fun of me," Jon muttered underneath his breath.

"Oh, and by the way, in case you're still wondering, you and Clary are getting married tonight. I've called for a priest and I've sworn him to secrecy about your wedding. He'll be meeting us in the stables later," Jon announced.

Jace's heart pulsed excitedly at the thought and his lips turned up into a large smile.

They were getting married _tonight._

* * *

They were gathered in the secret meadow, surrounded by the masses of flowers and fireflies. Clary and Jace were facing each other, with the priest Father Zachariah positioned in the middle, and Clary's brother Jon standing just a ways off his sister, his hands clasped together in front of him as he looked them on.

Courtesy of Isabelle, Clary was wearing a simple thin-strapped white gown made out of sheer lace that accentuated her curves perfectly. Her hair hung down in soft, wavy ringlets that framed her delicate face, and a white-gold Elven circlet graced her tiny head. Jace, on the other hand, was wearing a slim-fitted black suit with a white dress shirt on the inside, his worn leather boots replaced by a pair of shiny black dress shoes—all loaned to him by Jon, of course.

Jon and the priest, Father Zachariah, had both been suspicious when the couple had them dragged into the Forbidden Forest—since they hadn't known that the meadow they were going to even existed in the first place.

The ride through the Forbidden Forest had been a lot tenser than usual, with the fresh knowledge of the forest being inhabited by the bodily remains of Stephen, Luke and the politicians who Valentine had killed years ago. But even so, they weren't about to let those facts hinder them from getting married in the one place that meant the most to them.

The meadow was _their_ place. It was the place where they had shared their first kiss, where they had opened up to each other, and where they had first proclaimed their love for each other. And now, it was going to be the place where they would wed and officially become husband and wife.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Jace Herondale and Clarissa Adele Morgenstern in holy matrimony," Father Zachariah began in a smooth, mellow voice.

Jace's aureate eyes locked with Clary's emerald ones throughout the priest's entire reading, never once faltering or looking away. He stared at her lovingly, as though she was the only one standing there before him. When the time finally came for them to exchange their wedding vows, Jace tightened his grip on Clary's hands—they were sweaty and shaking with nervousness, but their eyes remained the same: certain, decided and unafraid.

"Do you, Jace Herondale, take Clarissa Adele Morgenstern to be your lawfully wedded wife, for better or for worse, till death do you part?"

"I do," Jace said in a strong, clear voice, his hands squeezing Clary's encouragingly.

"Do you, Clarissa Morgenstern, take Jace Herondale to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better or for worse, till death do you part?"

"I do," Clary said in a surprisingly strong voice as happy tears began running down her cheeks.

"Then, by the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride," Father Zachariah finished with a smile.

Jace let out a breath and took a step closer to Clary, cradling her face in between his large, calloused hands gently as though she was made of glass. His thumbs briefly wiped away the remaining tears on Clary's face, and with a proud smirk, he bent down and seized her lips in a passionate kiss.

Clary stood on her tippy toes, her arms coiled around Jace's neck as usual, her fingers weaving through his soft blonde curls as she returned the kiss—_their first kiss as husband and wife._

Strange, Jace thought. How being married to Clary made their kiss seem more intimate, more meaningful.

They would have kissed forever, if not for Jon's obnoxiously loud throat clearing that forced them apart.

The newlywed couple glared at Clary's white-haired brother, who looked at them with a childish grin. "What?" he asked, batting his eyelashes innocently.

"You always ruin the moment," Clary muttered angrily.

"You were going to eat each other's faces off. I thought I was doing myself and Father Zachariah here some justice before that actually happened," Jon retorted, casually throwing an arm around the silver-haired priest's shoulder, whose body stiffened comically at his touch.

Just then, Jon's eyes widened in horror and his face paled. "Oh dear! What have I done?" he nearly screeched, dropping down onto his knees. "Good Lord, I beseech you! Please! Redeem me from this terrible lapse of judgment I've made!" Jon proclaimed, raising his arms to the sky as if he were talking to God.

Jace and Clary rolled their eyes at her brother in unison. "What on earth are you droning on about now, you drama queen?" Clary demanded, expertly concealing her amusement with her brother.

Jon looked at his sister as if she had grown two heads, dropping his arms to his sides with a loud thump. "What am I droning on about? _What am I droning on about?_" he asked her in theatrical disbelief. "Oh sweet sister, can't you see? In my impetuous haste to be that wonderfully sweet and supportive big brother that I am, I've let you marry _him!"_ He shook an accusing finger at Jace, who raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

"And in turn, I've basically set myself up for my own doom! Nevermore shall I get a peaceful night's rest! I mean, seeing as how the two of you were so eager to go at it at each other _here_—even as you stand in the presence of _thy loving brother_ and this holy man—" He gestured to Father Zachariah. "—I can only imagine what you two would do to each other behind closed doors!"

Jon got up, pacing and muttering to himself. "No, not only have I condemned myself to sleep deprivation for the rest of my existence, but I have also quite possibly induced myself into a lifetime of deep mental scarring from the disturbing amount of noises you'll be making every night," he whined, quivering his bottom lip for an added dramatic effect.

Jace rolled his eyes again while Clary blushed profusely. "Well, if that's what you're so afraid of, you can always move into another room, far, _far_ away from us…because believe me, dearest brother-in-law, we _will _be making _plenty_ of noises," Jace returned, his tone smug.

Jon's face pinched together in disgust, and his lips pulled into a grimace. "That's just—ugh—gross! Now I have horribly explicit mental images of you deflowering my innocent little sister," he said, shivering dramatically and then pretending to gag.

Clary's nostrils flared defensively at Jon's comment, and before anyone even saw it coming, she strode up purposefully towards her brother and stomped on his foot painfully.

Jon yelped loudly, clutching his injured foot while hopping on one leg, causing Jace and Father Zachariah to chuckle at his agony. Turning on her heel sharply, Clary made a big show of smacking her brother in the face with her fiery-red hair before she finally retreated to stand next to Jace.

Jonathan's jokes forgotten, Jace automatically wrapped his arm around Clary's waist, and planted a soft kiss onto her temple.

"Let's go home," Jace murmured against her ear before pulling Clary away with him, their arms wrapped around each other the entire time as they walked out of the meadow.

* * *

When Jace finally made his way out of the secret passageways and into their bedroom later that night, he was disappointed when he realized that Clary wasn't even back yet.

They'd parted ways momentarily in the stables; since Jace couldn't risk getting caught, he'd taken the path through the secret passageways while Clary and Jon would return to their respective rooms by their usual route in the palace.

Jace sighed; the constricting feeling in his chest hadn't eased one bit. It was especially hard for him to let _his_ princess out of his sight this soon, but both he and Jon had agreed that it was the safest course. As much as the elder Morgenstern sibling had shown a rather transparent interest in exploring the secret tunnels himself, neither one of them wanted to face the possibility of the tunnels triggering less than pleasant memories for Clary of the time she'd spent in her father's secret study—least of all on their wedding night and a mere day after her breakdown. Thus far, she'd been nothing but happy, and Jace wanted to keep it that way for as long as he could help it.

Upon reaching the foot of their bed, Jace frowned momentarily in worry, wondering why his girlfr—_wife_, he quickly amended himself—was taking such a long time to arrive. He was fairly certain that it shouldn't have even taken _this_ long—unless both siblings happened to forget the way to their rooms, which was highly unlikely considering that they were both residents of the palace.

Various questions swirled around in his mind and Jace felt his heartbeat escalate, pounding at an erratic pace. He knew that he was being slightly irrational at the moment but he couldn't help but wonder if Valentine had had spies watching over them this whole time—and if he did, if they'd found out about their secret wedding and reported them to the fiend.

Perhaps that was the reason why Clary was still not _here_ yet, Jace thought, his golden eyes suddenly wide with panic. She must have been apprehended by Valentine and taken in for an interrogation to find out about _his_ whereabouts, or worse, they were punishing her for consorting with him!

_'She's with Jon, Jace. She'll be fine. She'll be here soon,'_ his conscience assured him, and Jace quickly brushed off his earlier thoughts as a result of his frayed nerves working into overdrive.

He did have a bad habit out of over-thinking things sometimes, he realized. There was no way that Valentine knew; they _have_ been careful this entire time. If anything, the most probable explanation was that Isabelle—one of the few people who actually knew about the couple besides Jon, Alec, Magnus, Simon and Father Zachariah, of course—had intercepted the siblings along the way and was currently interrogating Clary for details on their wedding. Clary had told him earlier how much Izzy had wanted to be there at their ceremony, therefore, there was not even a need for him to worry this much.

_Clary was fine._

Sighing softly, Jace closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, an irritated noise escaping his lips at his previous unreasonably paranoid thoughts. Shaking his head at himself—in chagrin but also partially in self-amusement—he then proceeded to remove his shoes and suit jacket before chucking them onto the floor, all the while taking deep breaths to calm his rattled nerves.

When he felt his heart rate begin to slow down and regain some semblance of normalcy, he finally settled himself on the bed, his facial features slightly relaxed as he gazed out of the open window and into the tranquil night sky.

Moments passed as he sat in silence, and before long, his mind began to drift over to the _last_ time he'd spent in this room—a night, as he recalled, that had been quite similar to this one—peaceful, beautiful—but yet with a completely different turn of events.

It had been such a _deceptively_ beautiful night, Jace remembered, the heat of bitter resentment coursing through his veins. Deceptive, purely because it had been anything _but_ beautiful when Valentine decided to make his mark by invading Idris—and worse still, when he chose this particular room to serve as a witness to his filthy, abhorrent crimes.

Clenching his eyes shut tightly, Jace cringed as image after image from his past assaulted his brain. Being physically present _here_, and to relive again memories where he'd been forced to watch his own mother humiliated in the worst way possible, and shortly after murdered in cold blood, destroyed him. It made him feel _weak_. _Useless_. _Pathetic_. _A complete failure as a son_.

In natural circumstances, he would have probably considered himself to be a masochist, or plainly put, insane. After all, no one of sound mind in _his_ position would even want to be here—least of all here waiting for his bride.

But yet, as ironic and strange as it might seem, despite all that, Jace knew that he could neither deny nor forget that he'd had some of the most wonderful memories in this room, too. It was here that he'd grown up, where he'd first lain in his own cradle as a baby. This room had seen everything, all the good and bad sides of Jace growing up, and he'd be damned if he let one horrible, unjust memory that Valentine had caused root out all of the good ones.

Jace shook his head, a silent promise entwined with the single gesture—a promise that he would not let that _one_ horrific memory taint the room. He realized that now, that being unable to forgive himself for failing to prevent his mother's death was one thing; it was another for him to continue letting the memory of it to stain him—_to subjugate him._ And to give up this room, it would almost be equivalent to admitting defeat to Valentine. And hell, while he was indeed a slave by name, he would not allow himself to be made into _Valentine's_ _slave_.

He would make better memories with Clary here, and begin on a fresh, clean slate with his wife. He would not let his past hold him back from his future. Not when he was finally home with _his_ _family_—with Clary.

As acceptance of his past flowed through his mind, Jace felt his body relax, and he slowly let out a deep sigh before realization of what was about to happen—his _future_—gripped him.

Almost immediately, shivers of anxiety rippled through Jace and his entire body re-tensed. He drummed his fingers against the bedside table, his knees bouncing up and down restlessly as his mind envisioned what was to come—of when he and Clary would consummate their union.

Clary would finally be his, and they would be each other's firsts.

Truthfully, while the thought excited him, Jace felt scared all the same. It amused him, really, how he found the idea of fighting in the arena less frightening as compared to being with Clary.

He knew why, of course. The idea of loving someone, of giving his entire being to her, was an all-new experience for him.

Furrowing his eyebrows together, Jace began to subconsciously gnaw on the inside of his cheek. He was mostly proud, happy even that he'd saved himself for Clary, that he hadn't acted on his lustful urges in his early teen years and squandered his body away to someone else before their marriage.

But then again, the very situation of him having "preserved his purity" added to his fear. What if he didn't know what to do? What if he made a complete and utter fool of himself? And worse, what if he hurt Clary? What if she didn't find it pleasurable? What if she regretted him after?

Jace didn't have time to dwell on his worries as not too long later, he heard the sound of the doorknob rattling and the barely audible creak of the door as it opened and closed.

He looked over his shoulder, just in time to see Clary twisting the lock on the door with a small click. She leaned her back against the door, her emerald green eyes finding his aureate ones from across the room, and instantly, all his doubts and apprehensions faded away.

Jace smiled and stood by the foot of the bed, watching intently, his golden orbs darkening with each passing second as Clary sashayed her way over to him, her hips swinging seductively from side to side as if to tease him. Jace chuckled at her display, and then, after what seemed like forever, Clary finally stopped in front of him, a large smile gracing her pink lips as she stood, so near and yet so far away from him, neither of them compelled to exchange a single word.

Looking into those luminous green eyes, ones that shone brighter than any emerald, ones that looked far more refreshing than the color of grass on a bright spring day, Jace felt as though he was falling in love with Clary all over again—this time, a deeper and stronger love than the one he'd felt for her before.

Maybe it was his lust talking but Jace was convinced that it was the wholesome truth. He loved Clary with every breath and every pulse reverberating through his entire body, and as he saw himself reflected in her pupils, he could tell that she reciprocated his love on the same level; that she was ready for this, ready to give her whole self to him, just as he was ready to give himself to her.

Nervousness and want echoing through his mind, Jace slowly reached his hand out towards Clary and rested it on the small of her back, waiting patiently for her to make the next move. No matter how much he wanted to take Clary right then and there, he was resolved to take it slow with her, to let her be the one to lead and to take charge of the situation instead of him—unless she gave him the permission to do otherwise, of course.

Clary returned his gesture with a sheepish smile and took a step closer to him, placing her tiny hands on his muscular chest, her green eyes playfully telling him to go on, that it was his turn to move.

Jace nearly laughed aloud at the hilarity of their situation, how despite their nervousness, they were both still strangely calm enough to maintain a light, joking demeanor with each other, as though they were playing a game rather than preparing to make love. He brushed his knuckles over her cheeks, eliciting a content sigh from her lips, and then slowly, he began to undo the strings on the back of her dress.

As each string fell loose from their careful knot, exposing each new strip of bare ivory skin, Jace swallowed hard in his throat. He skimmed his fingers over her newly exposed back, his touch feather-light and soft as they moved lower, _and lower still_.

When his entire warm, calloused hand finally made contact with her fully bare back, Clary shivered, breaking their intense gaze to rest her head against his shirt-clad chest, and Jace smiled wider to himself in satisfaction, feeling her grow weak in his arms.

Overtaken by his desire—and an even larger curiosity—he began to run his hand up and down her back, ghosting over each varying hue of her silky skin. Jace frowned; squinting hard at a particular spot on her back where her skin appeared slightly greenish, he suddenly ascertained—with unmitigated anger and resentment—faint bruises and welts decorating the expanse of Clary's back—a plain proof of her father's abuse.

Unwittingly, Jace's body went rigid with tension and rage. He wanted so damn much to exact his punishment on Valentine for even hurting his Clary. No man should ever lay his hand on a woman or a girl, Jace thought angrily. It was simply unethical.

Not realizing that his hand was frozen on a particular bruise on a spot on her back, or that he was practically glowering at it, Jace was a little taken aback when Clary suddenly looked up at him, fear, shame and torment in her green eyes. His golden eyes softened, and he brushed his lips over the crinkled skin in between her eyebrows, wordlessly telling her that he didn't see those bruises on her back as anything that made her less than what she already was to him—beautiful.

Beautiful, _and _strong, he added to himself—for her ability to continue to stand tall, and for still being the small, feisty redhead with a big heart and an even bigger capacity to love. Despite having been subjected to her father's torment, Clary was in no way a hard and callous person like her father. She may have been influenced by his words _once_, but she was still her own person who fought hard to make her own destiny—_exactly like Jace_.

And if she could love him despite the even uglier scars on his own back, how could he not love her just because of her own minor ones?

Jace watched as Clary's eyes desperately searched his for any signs of hatred or disgust towards her, but of course, she saw none. Love and pride radiated through his golden orbs and Clary visibly relaxed in his arms again, dropping her head back into his chest in relief.

Jace smiled as he gently stroked his wife's hair and she snuggled her face further into his chest. Valentine could wait, he thought, tightening his hold on Clary. The whole, goddamned world could just wait.

Slowly, he brushed over each faint welt and bruise on Clary's back with tender care, loving the feel of her bare, silky skin against his palm. His anger towards Valentine buried in the deep crevices of his mind, Jace had never felt his insides twist with so much need and desire to claim Clary as his.

But instead of acting on his primal desires, he settled for planting a soft kiss on the crown of Clary's forehead, his hand carefully removing the Elven circlet from her hair as he did, setting it to its natural, lustrous form—just the way he had always liked it.

As if fueled by a newfound courage, Clary lifted her head from his chest, and Jace watched her with adoration as her dainty fingers began to meticulously undo the buttons on his shirt. She pushed the shirt off of his shoulders, pausing momentarily to kiss the small, star-shaped scar on his left shoulder. Then, slowly, she ran her hands up and down his perfectly chiseled chest, copying his action on her back earlier.

Her emerald green eyes followed her fingers as they brushed over his every dip and curve, tracing over his faded old scars so lightly that Jace's breath hitched in pleasure. Then, in the ultimate display of boldness, Clary trailed her hand downwards, stopping just over the hardened bulge covered by Jace's trousers.

Jace groaned softly against her red hair, feeling his heartbeat escalate as Clary pressed the heel of her palm harder against his arousal. He reached his hand up and cupped the back of her neck, kissing a path down from her temple to her cheekbone, then to her jaw, before finally resting his lips on her full, rosy ones.

They kissed each other in a feverish haze, their hands moving at their own accord as they removed the remaining articles of clothing on their bodies. When they finally broke apart from their kiss, their lips were swollen, and they were standing bare in front of each other for the first time, breathing heavily in a mixture of their own excitement and nervousness.

Jace pulled Clary towards him again, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, resting her cheek against his hammering chest. They shivered in pleasure as their bare bodies pressed fully against each other, fitting to one another so perfectly, as though their forms were molded to specifically complement each other's.

Soon enough, as the contact of hot skin against hot skin became almost too unbearable, they began grinding their hips against each other feverishly, their movements so synchronized, so natural, just like every other exchange they've ever made.

As their breathing grew increasingly labored, Jace slid his hands downwards from Clary's back to the curve of her rear, gently gripping the back of her thighs to hoist her up.

Clary jumped up and wrapped her own legs around Jace's hips tightly, her warmth resting directly above his aroused manhood, causing both of them to moan again.

As beads of sweat began to trickle down his forehead, Jace navigated them towards the bed, gently placing Clary down against the silken covers, her hair cascading like soft flames against the lavender hues of the pillow.

Clary unwrapped her legs from around Jace's back, her thighs on either side of him, kneading his hips gently as he propped himself up on his elbows. She threaded her fingers through his soft, blonde curls, yanking them roughly as his lips began attacking hers, kissing her with every ounce of fiery passion.

The intensity growing, Jace swept his tongue along the seam of Clary's lips, seeking entrance, which she granted to him eagerly, their tongues battling tantalizingly for dominance. His lips left hers only momentarily before he began kissing a blazing trail down her neck to the valley between her breasts, tasting the sweet saltiness of her ivory skin, doting on her every tiny freckle with his lips. He stopped at her navel, retracing the path back up to her awaiting lips, his hands massaging her round, full breasts the entire time.

Clary arched her back as his thumbs softly brushed over her nipples, a soft moan escaping her.

"My beautiful Clary, I love you so much," Jace breathed, the first words he'd uttered to her since they'd entered the room. He brushed his fingertips against her cheek gently, his golden eyes glistening with love and desire as he gazed upon his wife, completely taken by her mesmerizing beauty, her intriguing vulnerability, and above all, her own trembling need for him.

"_Jace, please_," Clary pleaded, her voice barely a whisper as she pulled Jace back up to her lips to kiss him again. She arched her back as he carefully lined himself up at her entrance and rubbed himself against her, the feeling of his tip against her core sending infinite shivers of pleasure up her spine.

She dug her nails into his shoulder, urging him to go on, granting him the permission that he'd been so desperately seeking from her—giving him the final indication that she was ready and willing to entrust herself to him.

Without breaking their kiss, Jace firmly planted his hands on Clary's hips for leverage before slowly guiding himself into her, his thick, pulsing length pushing gently against her tight, cramped walls, stretching her, and patiently, she took him in, inch by inch, until he was completely sheathed inside of her.

Clary broke the kiss, gasping against Jace's mouth as he finally broke through her barrier; the stinging pain was unexpected, but bearable at the same time. She wrapped her arms around Jace's shoulders as he kissed away at the salty tears that spilled down her cheeks, both of them careful not to move to allow her time to adjust to him.

Jace rested his forehead against Clary's, letting their breaths intermingle with each other, silently relishing in the pleasure of being surrounded by her tight, virginal walls—well, she was no longer a virgin now, as was_ he_, Jace thought belatedly, feeling unbelievably grateful that he, of all people, had been gifted with such an opportunity to be with Clary, to finally be one with her in every way that he'd always dreamed of.

Biting back a grunt, he carefully shifted his hands from the curves of her hips, slipping them to her back as he watched her; her green eyes, though they watered with pain, told him how much she enjoyed being with him like this—_one body, one being, one entity_—and Jace couldn't agree more with her.

As her taut muscles began to slowly relax from beneath him, Clary experimentally rolled her hips, wordlessly telling Jace that she was ready—ready to move with him, ready to follow him to wherever he wanted to lead her to.

His own heart racing with mounting anticipation, Jace planted another brief chaste kiss to her lips before slowly pulling out and entering her again gently.

They moved together unhurriedly, Clary's hips rocking to meet Jace's gentle thrusts. They slipped the first couple of times before they found their rhythm, their soft moans and pants pervading the quiet air. It was slow, awkward at first, but at the same time, neither could deny the _realness_ behind each and every one of their movements, how each motion brought them infinitely closer to the other.

As the pleasure built, Jace picked up the pace, lifting one of Clary's legs up to wrap it around his waist, shifting his angle so that he could thrust deeper into her. The feeling was indescribable, nothing at all like he had ever experienced before. He felt like he was flying, soaring higher and higher amongst the clouds, climbing with such speed, such reckless abandon that he had no desire nor will to control.

When they were seconds away from reaching that blissful euphoria, Jace threaded his fingers through Clary's tightly, holding onto her until he finally stilled above her, spilling himself deeply inside of her. He buried his face into the pillow next to Clary's head, her name coming out of his mouth as a long muffled moan.

Clary clamped her teeth down onto Jace's shoulder to repress a scream as she arrived at her own release, her free hand raking its nails down his sweaty back.

Once their climaxes had finally subsided, Jace collapsed against Clary's body tiredly, though not bothering to pull out of her.

She pulled his head up to her again, kissing him softly, breathing out the three words he loved hearing her say: "I love you."

His exhaustion forgotten, Jace kissed her back, murmuring against her lips with a soft smile, "I love you, too."

Then, all was lost as they drowned together in a sea of unbridled passion, their excitement building up once more. A kiss, a single kiss was all it took to reignite that fire, and then, they were making love again.

To hell with everything; the world could wait. This night belonged to them, and nothing could take away the love and passion they had for each other.

* * *

The symphony of crickets slowly simmered down to silence as the crowing of roosters dominated the peaceful morning air. In the far horizon, twilight faded away to greet the dawn, the hues of lavender and rosy pink tingeing the celestial sky as the tranquil sun steadily made its descent.

As always, dawn was the hour of silence, the signal of the start of fresh beginnings, of miracles, and of hope.

Just beyond the walls of the Idrisian palace, the young couple lay peacefully in repose, their bare bodies entangled in the warm comforter of their four-poster, king-sized bed as they basked in the afterglow of their recent union.

They lay on their sides, Clary's ivory back against Jace's golden-tanned front, her delicate head tucked carefully underneath his strong chin while his muscular arm lay draped tightly across her thin waist.

Clary's eyelids fluttered open slowly and she snuggled further into the warmth that emanated from behind her. She smiled as the arms that held her firmly and protectively grew tighter.

Carefully rolling over in his embrace, Clary registered the faint ache between her legs, a reminder of the night of passion she'd shared with her husband, of when they had joined together for the first time in the most intimate of ways.

Clary smiled at that. _Her husband._ She was his, and his only. No one would ever touch her the way he could, and she felt perfectly content with that.

Blinking away the haze of sleep, she recalled the sweet, passionate kisses they'd exchanged, the gentleness of each and every one of his touches, the slowness of his pace as if he was savoring every moment of their intimacy. She recalled gazing into his aureate eyes as he'd hovered over her, how they had shone with lust, adoration and a love so deep and so tender; how he had looked at her as if she were the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on. The very thought of it made Clary's heart swell with even more warmth.

Jace had truly amazed her. Even as he'd seen the bruises on her back, the remnants of Valentine's punishments on her, he hadn't recoiled away from her in disgust, neither had he looked at her any differently as if he pitied her. If anything, his eyes had shown her _empathy_ and pride, and if eyes could speak, Clary knew that Jace's had said 'we all have scars but they don't make us any uglier'. And by God did she believe him. If there was anything or anyone that could make her stronger, or make her short life feel worth it, it was their marriage and Jace.

Clary brought Jace's hand up to her lips and kissed it, her eyes closing and her lips lingering on his skin as she made a silent oath. _'I will never forsake him,'_ she vowed. Their marriage was a gift, and Clary would curse herself thousand-fold if she didn't spend every single moment treasuring Jace and loving him the way he did her. She would be there for him now and after, for better or worse, she promised.

As she came face-to-face with his bare chiseled chest, Clary looped her free arm underneath Jace's, reaching up to graze his shoulder blade, before nuzzling her face into the vast expanse of his firm muscles and inhaling him deeply.

She loved the smell of him. The smell of soap, sunshine, and something uniquely Jace—it was extremely comforting that it made her toes tingle with delight.

Slowly tilting her head up, Clary's smile grew impossibly larger as she gazed upon the sleeping face of the man she loved. He looked so different, so young and so peaceful in his sleep.

Ever so gently, she began peppering butterfly kisses on his chin and along the side of his jaw until she heard a soft, deep chuckle as he was roused from the realm of dreams.

She watched intently as his eyelids flit open, his golden eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly with the movement, before finally gazing lovingly into his mesmerizing golden eyes—his eyes that spoke volumes of the emotions he felt for her, love being the most outstanding one of all; his eyes that strongly mirrored Clary's own feelings for him.

Cupping her cheeks in his large, calloused hands, Jace bent down and gave Clary a soft and gentle kiss on the lips.

She responded to him eagerly, moving her hands up to entwine them in his silky tresses that were mussed from sleep.

"Good morning," Jace whispered huskily against her lips as they broke apart, lingering there before planting a few more chaste kisses.

Clary giggled, her face aglow with happiness that touched her eyes and radiated from every inch of her body.

Jace smiled back at her, caressing her cheekbones with his knuckles affectionately. It was the happiest he had ever seen her, and his heart burst with pride at the knowledge that he was the cause of her bliss.

"I love you," she whispered against his cheek, closing her eyes briefly as if absorbing the moment.

Jace kissed the crown of her head. "I love you too. My love. My life. My wife," he said, punctuating each sentence with a soft kiss.

Clary's heart danced at that. _Wife._ Ah, she felt as giddy as a lovesick teenager. Which, ironically, she was, Clary reminded herself.

Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, with her face buried in his chest, she murmured in a pleading tone, "I don't want you to go. I want you to stay here with me, in our room, in this bed. Forever."

Jace chuckled at that, though he felt her words pierce him. He didn't want to leave either. "You know I want to be with you wherever you are, sweetheart. Always. But I have to go. They'll be looking for me," he tried coaxing her gently, rubbing smooth, rhythmic circles onto her bare back.

"There's only so much Jonathan can do to cover for me, for us. And I can't take advantage of that. I'd rather we have a little time to spend with each other every day, than none at all," he finished, kissing the tip of her nose as she looked up at him, tears shimmering in her emerald green eyes.

"I know," she said before giving him a chaste kiss on the mouth.

Turning away from her husband, Clary carefully got up, her hand pressed firmly against her lower abdomen when she felt the slight throb in her intimate area. She grabbed her white satin robe, that had been carefully folded on top of her dresser, and covered her petite body with it, a slight shiver coursing through her when she felt the soft kiss of an early morning breeze against her naked skin.

Sitting up, Jace leaned his head against the headboard, watching as Clary tied the ribbon of her robe around her waist, her delicate fingers nimble and meticulous. He smiled a little to himself, remembering how those fingers had felt on his skin, how her every touch had lit his entire body on fire and made his heart pound faster than it ever had.

He'd give anything to relive those amazing sensations again—_over_ and _over_ and _over _again, Jace thought, his golden eyes darkening with lust.

Oblivious to her husband's ogling, Clary strode over to the vanity that sat just across from the bed, and plopped down onto the plush velvet chair with a despondent-sounding sigh. Facing the mirror, she picked up her hairbrush and slowly ran it through her curls, each movement making her feel increasingly sluggish and depressed as the weight of her—_their_—reality slowly came back to her.

She didn't want to face this day _just yet._ In fact, she didn't want to face another day as Clarissa _Morgenstern_, Valentine's daughter and Sebastian's supposed bride-to-be. She only wanted to spend the day, and every day after that, with Jace—as his wife, as Clarissa _Herondale_.

Upon noticing Clary's reflection in the mirror—at the downcast look in her eyes—Jace's lust-filled thoughts immediately vanished, and his brows furrowed into a concerned frown.

Moving from his spot on the bed, he slipped into his undershorts before ambling towards to his wife, his footsteps as soundless as a cat's due to his many years of training as a gladiator.

Upon reaching her, he leaned down, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, and buried his face into her hair, inhaling deeply the scent of vanilla and strawberries that lingered there.

"I love you. So much. And I'll always be thinking of you. No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, you'll always be on my mind," Jace murmured against her hair, then kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear.

Clary shivered slightly before leaning into her husband's touch, closing her eyes ever so lightly. She placed the hairbrush on the vanity before turning around, hooking her arms around Jace's waist with a small, barely there, smile. "I'll be thinking of you too. Every second of every minute of every passing hour," she returned.

Jace pulled back to look at her and grinned mischievously. "I'll see you tonight," he said. Then lowering his voice, he whispered seductively against her ear, "And I promise we'll have more _fun _tonight."

With another shiver, Clary pulled away from her husband's embrace, before promptly smacking him hard across the chest, her green eyes dark and playful. "You disgust me, Jace Herondale," she said.

"But you love me anyway, Clarissa_ Herondale_," Jace quipped, winking at her cheekily before turning away to get dressed in his usual attire. Enough time had already passed as it is, and he needed to get out soon before anyone spies him leaving from the secret passage in the stables.

Once he had finished lacing up his boots, Jace got up and headed over to Clary, pecking her on the cheek one last time and stroking her jaw fleetingly. With a final promise to see her again later that night, he left for his gladiator training, fully reenergized and ready to face another day.

* * *

**A/N:**

Yay, for once in a really long time, nothing bad happened in the history of Redemption!

YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS CHAPTER?:)

I'm going to say this for the benefit of those who are wondering...whether or not Clary will get pregnant, that's up for you to speculate on your own...either way, it's not going to affect the storyline, and it won't be used as leverage by Sebastian/Valentine over Clace because as much as I initially planned that, ideas have changed spontaneously during the writing process. BUT, that being said, something _else_ will happen. So, the question is...can anyone figure out _what _exactly?

I'm going to be mean and not drop any hints about what's happening in the next chapter except tell you guys that there'll be a huge time skip (like two months after the wedding, i.e. a few days before the games)! Yes, we are closely reaching the end of Redemption...there's about 6 chapters left, including the epilogue?

Updates will come in a week...or two. It's the chapters from here on out that are still quite messy and would need a lot of editing on my part...so yeah, bear with me. I will deliver, unless sth fatal happens to me (God, I'm such a morbid person).

Anyways, you ppl stay awesome! Love you guys!

XO!

~N


	19. Chapter 18: Fight and Flight

**Author's Note:**

Yayyyy! Another update is hereee!

Thank you for all the awesome reviews last chapter, and also, thanks for all the new follows and favorites.

As mentioned in my closing A/N last chapter, the events in this one takes place almost two months after the wedding, so brace yourselves cos we're approaching the end of Redemption soon. 5 chapters after this one, including epilogue. Kkay, I'm nervous enough as it is. No spoilers. Let's go.

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 18: Fight…and Flight**

Clary stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bathroom, her emerald green eyes trained attentively, almost scrutinizing her reflection. A midnight blue silk robe hung loosely over her unclothed thin frame, revealing a generous amount of fair skin decorated sparsely with freckles—freckles she knew her husband loved, as he did her other flaws.

A smile graced her lips, albeit momentarily, her heart skipping a beat at the very thought of the word 'husband' before a solemn expression quickly overtook her face. It had been close to two months since their wedding, and now, they were just a mere five days away from the gladiator games.

The games, Clary thought morosely, her eyes unwittingly fluttering shut as if it physically pained her to think about it.

Truthfully, it _did_. Every time she was reminded of the games, her heart clenched a little tighter, and it became slightly harder to breathe. She hated the games; she hated especially how it hovered over her marriage with Jace like an ominous cloud, ready to obliterate every shred of happiness they had and send them spiraling headfirst into oblivion—which wasn't far off from the truth, really.

If Jace failed to kill Valentine, Clary knew without a doubt in her mind that they would all be in deep peril. Jace would more than likely be sentenced to a public execution while her and Jon would be severely punished for their treason; they would probably end up like her mother and Luke, their bodies dumped disgracefully in the Forbidden Forest.

And what made her feel infinitely worse was that she could do nothing to prevent Jace's confrontation with Valentine from happening. It was for everyone's own good, _their_ _family_'s future, Jace always reminded her each time she tried to coax him against it. And though Clary despised that she was always on the losing end of the argument, she couldn't deny that a huge part of her agreed with him; the only reason why she even had misgivings about it in the first place was because of her fear that she might lose Jace in the process.

Sighing softly, Clary's eyes followed her fingers as they slowly trailed down her body, her fingertips brushing lightly against her own smooth skin from the narrow valley of her breasts to the spot just above her navel. She turned to her side, her neck still angled towards the mirror as her hand gingerly smoothed over her pale, flat stomach, rubbing it curiously, wonderingly.

"Admiring yourself, are we?" An amused voice cut through Clary's train of thoughts.

Clary's heart thundered in her chest and she immediately dropped her hand, her fingers moving to hastily tie her robe. Once she was certain that she was as presentable as one could be in a flimsy robe, she whipped around to face the intruder, an unappreciative scowl on her face.

"Isabelle," Clary said in a scolding tone, "what are you doing here?" She clutched the robe tighter around her body, a furious blush coating her cheeks as her eyes darted to the floor.

The raven-haired girl smirked unabashedly at the princess's reaction. "Your ears are pink," she commented unapologetically.

Clary's head snapped towards the direction of her maid as she sent her a withering look. "I thought I dismissed you an hour ago," Clary said tersely, purposely ignoring Izzy's remark. "It's late. Jace will be home soon." She brushed past Izzy as she stepped through the doorframe of the bathroom and into her bedroom, her maid following closely behind.

Huffing in annoyance, Clary plopped herself down in front of her vanity and reached for her hairbrush, unnecessarily trying to occupy herself by combing her already tamed curls. Izzy stood behind the princess, silently watching her agitated movements with a raised questioning eyebrow.

After a while, Clary sighed again, frustration clear on her face. "What do you want, Iz?" she asked wearily, though there was an obvious effort on her part in trying to maintain a respectful tone.

"Jon told me to send you a message," Izzy finally said, arms crossed lazily behind her back.

At the mention of her brother, Clary turned around to face her maid. "And?" she asked her expectantly.

"He said that he and Jace will be home late tonight," Izzy replied. "They're off somewhere in an important meeting with some very important people. Didn't say who," she added offhandedly.

Clary frowned, her face falling even further at the news. Lately, it was all Jace and Jon were up to—meetings.

It had become their spontaneous little routine in the last two months. While Jace had been busying himself throughout the day with training, grooming himself into the best physical shape possible, Jon had been devoting his time to monitoring the members of the Clave, approaching ones he felt were trustworthy enough to help them in their cause to overthrow the corrupted king. It was undoubtedly a dangerous risk on their part—since there was always the threat of betrayal—but a necessary risk nonetheless.

From impromptu one-on-one rendezvous led by Jon, they had subsequently expanded into official meetings that often dragged late into the night, taking place at various covert locations in Idris. Selfishly, Clary hated that she barely had any time to spend with her husband and brother nowadays, but she was all too aware of how important their meetings were. After all, how could the people of Idris possibly believe Jace's claims about Valentine's crimes if he had no one important to back him up?

Though Jon was obviously a strong and powerful supporter of Jace, he was only one man—he wasn't enough. But, with members of the Clave on his side, Jace would definitely stand a better chance against Valentine.

"Daydreaming about lover boy?" Izzy teased Clary again, halting her thoughts about her brother and Jace short.

Clary blinked, sighing in an almost resigned manner as she finally placed the hairbrush she had been absentmindedly pulling through her hair back on the vanity. "I just miss him," Clary admitted. "I wish we could just be any other ordinary couple. I wish we didn't have to worry about the games, or my father…" she trailed off, staring blankly into the mirror.

"Don't forget Sebastian," Izzy supplied unhelpfully, causing Clary's chest to constrict at the unwelcome reminder.

_'Sebastian… Of course,'_ Clary thought begrudgingly as a deep sense of loathing rose in her. While Jace and Jon had been busy with their preparations to take down Valentine, Clary had been forced to partake in preparations for her arranged wedding with Sebastian. She hated the entire charade, of course, but she had no choice but to go along with Valentine's arrangements. She couldn't afford to blow their cover after all.

Clary sighed for probably the thousandth time that night. As if it wasn't bad enough that they had to face Valentine; now, they had to face the sick, perverted bastard too. _Maybe_ the idea of the bastard would have been a teensy bit bearable _if _he weren't in the same kingdom, in the same palace as her right now, but the fact of the matter is, he_ was_.

Clary shuddered. God knows where the hell he was creeping about at that very moment. Either way, she didn't have the compulsion to find out. He could scale the glass towers and fall to his death for all she cared.

"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern, pay attention, would you?" Izzy snapped impatiently upon noticing that Clary was, once again, knee-deep lost in her thoughts.

"It's _Herondale_," Clary hissed, an irate look on her face as she glared at her maid.

"Oooh…touchy, touchy, Mrs Herondale," Izzy teased her again. "Hmm, is there any possibility that we can attribute this little conniption to the fact that you're, say…_expecting a little Herondale_?" Her voice rose to a soprano-like tone at the end, and Clary's mouth fell open at the suggestion.

Taking advantage of Clary's stunned state, Izzy ploughed on. "Not that I've been intentionally studying you or anything, Clary, but lately you've been having some really weird eating habits," she remarked, oblivious to Clary's discomfort to the subject matter. "Oats with stripped bacon, pickle juice, and _eggs_…especially _eggs_! I mean, since when do you even like eggs, Clary?" Izzy demanded the princess, who was only now realizing her 'peculiar' change of taste in food.

"I—I…n-no," Clary stuttered, shaking her head so furiously that Izzy was certain she was going to give herself a whiplash.

"No. No, no, no, Iz!" Her voice suddenly rose to a shout as she continued to shake her head, her green eyes wide and glassy.

Izzy stumbled backwards from Clary in shock, watching as she continued to mutter words of denial to herself, one of her tiny fists now curled around her hair, pulling it roughly. After a while, as if succumbing to defeat, she crumpled in on herself, arms wrapped around her own tiny waist with a look of anguish on her face.

"I-I can't be pregnant," she finally whispered, sounding close to tears. "_I can't…_"

Izzy gave her a comtemplative look as she slowly kneeled down beside her, her hand already moving to stroke Clary's hair in a sisterly display of affection. She hadn't seen Clary with a breakdown in a while—not since her marriage to Jace—that she felt immediate guilt for causing it.

"Shh, calm down, Clare. I was only joking. I didn't mean to set you off like this…hey?" She captured Clary's hands in hers, forcing her to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry I upset you, but honey, there's always a chance that you might be," she said in a gentle voice. "I mean, you and Jace _have_ been doing the deed right?" she treaded lightly, though there was a knowing tone in her voice.

Clary gulped. "We have."

"Have you bled this month?" Izzy continued to ask her, her tone mindful and gentle, rather than interrogative.

Clary shook her head, a lone tear trickling down her cheek. "N-no… But I've always…never really had a regular p-period…it p-probably means nothing." She pressed her hand against her mouth, hiccupping softly.

They both remained quiet for a long time as they mulled over Clary's words, the only sound of Clary's heavy breathing filling the air—until she chose to speak up again. "I—I just c-can't be p-pregnant, Iz," Clary stammered, her voice thick with suppressed tears.

Izzy's forehead creased into a concerned frown. "Why not? Don't you want to be pregnant with Jace's child?"

Clary shook her head again. "It's not that," she said, trying to sound strong. "I love Jace…and of course I want to have children with him…but, Iz," she looked into Isabelle's brown eyes, her emerald green eyes showing nothing but fear, "I can't be pregnant _now_. Not with all this danger running around. Not until I know that I can fall asleep peacefully with Jace every night without having to worry about tomorrow." Her breath hitched and Clary paused, a hand pressed against her heaving chest.

"And even if I am…I don't want to know. I don't want to give Jace another reason to worry with everything he already has on his plate. I just—_I don't want to know_," Clary finished in a barely audible whisper, the hand she'd been holding against her chest now subconsciously hovering closely over her flat stomach.

"Clary? Isabelle?" Jace's voice came from the fireplace and the two women spontaneously turned their heads towards him. He was dressed rather smartly in a blue button-down shirt, the rest of his gladiator attire folded neatly and tucked underneath his arm.

Clary met Jace's golden eyes with her watery emerald ones, her hand, once again, discarded to her side. "Hey," she rasped out. "You're home early." She smiled at him weakly, but instantly felt a noticeable shift in the weight that had formerly been bearing down on her; she felt a little light again.

Jace placed his things on the bed before dragging a hand over his face sluggishly. "Yeah, I was tired so Jon made me go home to spend time with you. He said he'll come by later to talk to me," Jace explained himself as he made to approach his wife.

Noticing her tears, he frowned before swiftly whirling on the maid he practically regarded as his sister. "Iz," he stressed on her name sternly. "Is there a particular reason why my wife is crying? If I find out that you had anything to do with it—"

"Oh, calm your pants down, Jace," Izzy interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "We were just talking, and _Clary_," she turned her head briefly to share a conspiratorial glance with the princess, "just got a little emotional when she started talking about her childhood."

Clary sent Izzy a grateful nod, knowing that she was terrible at lying to Jace—or anyone in general, for that matter. Even though she'd promised that she wouldn't keep any secrets from him anymore, she didn't want to talk to him about the possibility of her being pregnant. There was an even chance that she might _not_ be and their worries would only amount to being a wild goose chase.

Jace took a few quick strides and within seconds, he was kneeling face-to-face in front of his wife. He took her right hand in his much larger ones and kissed the back of it. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" he asked her tenderly, not caring that Isabelle was listening in on his conversation with Clary.

"Yeah," Clary whispered. "Better, now that you're here. I'm always better when I'm with you," she said, pulling Jace's face towards hers.

But before their lips could even meet, Izzy let out a deliberately loud cough.

Jace sighed exasperatedly, turning to glare at his 'sister'. "Honestly, Iz, are you really that spoilt or incapable that I need to show you your way out?"

Izzy shot daggers back at Jace before she stomped her foot comically. "Fine. I know when I'm not wanted," she huffed as she led herself out of the room.

Once the door had swung shut, Jace went over to lock it, Clary trailing faithfully behind him. She pushed him against the door, hands subconsciously trailing down his chest. "I've missed you today," she said, cupping his cheeks in her hands and standing on her tiptoes to kiss him gently.

Jace bent down, meeting her halfway, his strong arms wrapped around her waist to support her. "I've missed you, too," he murmured against Clary's lips as they parted, his golden eyes hooded with exhaustion, and at the same time, a very much _awake_ desire.

Clary moved her hands into his golden mop of hair and he let out a soft groan. "Come on, we should go sleep," she said as Jace dropped his head into the crook of her neck and pulled her body flush against his.

Without lifting his head, he shook his head and tightened his arms around her waist. "Not yet," Jace said, his voice sounding hoarse, vulnerable. "Just hold me. I want you to hold me."

Clary kissed his hair. "Okay," she simply replied as she ran a hand up and down the nape of her husband's neck, the other one caressing his lower back in slow circles. She felt him exhale softly against her before he started to nip and kiss at her skin, eliciting a surprised gasp from her. "Jace," she tried protesting, though it came out as a moan instead.

"Jace," she tried again, this time gently pushing him away from her by the shoulders.

He looked down, at where her hands were holding him at arms' length away from her, before returning his gaze to her face. The intense look of hurt on his face instantly made Clary's heart throb with contrite and she cupped his cheeks, her thumbs smoothing over the hurt lines on his face.

"Oh, honey…" Clary murmured. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to push you away from me like that. I just—I thought you were tired a-and—"

Clary was cut off by Jace seizing her lips in a kiss—a long and hard one.

"Don't feel sorry," he told her when they pulled apart, his hot breath mingling with hers. "You were right. I just had a long day, and I, I couldn't help but feel a little hurt—"

Clary placed her index finger over Jace's lips, silencing him. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jace. I'm your wife, I should have been more understanding of you," she said, a self-reproaching look on her face. "You've given me so much—"

"And _you _have given me so much more in return, Clary," Jace interrupted her, his tone as gentle as his touch on her. His golden eyes burned brightly into her emerald green eyes, showing, _as always_, the love and forgiveness in them. "You need to remember that, sweetheart. You need to stop feeling as if you owe me your whole entire existence because you don't."

Clary opened her mouth to protest but Jace clamped his hand over her mouth and gave her a stern look. "Listen to me, Clary. I _don't_," he stressed with a firm shake of his head, "expect you to wield a sword next to me when I take down Valentine. Bravery or _worth_ is neither measured nor defined by fighting, or by killing someone. You make me stronger every day just by being with me, by being _you_, and that's more than I could ever ask for. That's more than enough for me," Jace said in an ever sincere tone.

The corner of Clary's lips curled upwards into a small smile. "Just by being me?" she asked jokingly as she quirked an eyebrow at Jace. "You mean, the whole whiny, crying damsel-in-distress?"

Jace clucked his tongue in disagreement. "For your information, I'd rather you cry than have the frigid reaction of a stone. And secondly, _please_…you're anything but whiny or a 'damsel'," he said with a roll of his eyes. "As for the 'distress' part, yes, you do have the tendency to get into distressing situations sometimes, but then again, who doesn't need a little saving? You've saved me—"

"Alas, not from your gargantuan ego, though. You're too far gone in that end, I'm not sure an entire army would be able to save you from it." Clary couldn't resist adding in a quipped remark there, which only made Jace's smile grow wider.

"We've been through this before, Mrs Herondale. You love my _gargantuan_ ego," he whispered seductively.

"Hmm…" Clary brushed her lips teasingly against Jace as she made a move to escape the circle of his embrace. With a sly smile, he grasped her hips tightly before capturing her lips again, this time shedding the layers of fabric from their skin as the kiss slowly ignited into wildfire.

* * *

Jace was lying on top of Clary, his head on her bare chest and his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. He hummed contentedly as he felt her dainty fingers sift through the soft strands of his golden-blonde hair, her other hand rubbing his back slowly as if to lull him to sleep, as she would do to him every other night.

But Jace would not sleep; his mind was too much of a mess, like an intricately knotted web that had no possible way of being unraveled.

With the games only a few days away from now, he couldn't help but feel an insurmountable amount of worry—worry that he might fail, worry that the Clave members he and Jon had been consorting with would betray them to Valentine, worry about the implications of his failure on him, Jonathan, and especially Clary.

Admittedly, it was pointless to worry about such things now, seeing as how everything had already been carefully planned, but being the person that he was—a boy who had, on multiple occasions, been betrayed to by people he'd believed he could trust—it was only inherent that Jace would worry. Added with the fact that nearly all of the current Clave members had been handpicked by Valentine—for reasons irrefutably to fulfill his own selfish desires—Jace felt even more unsettled, even despite Jon's assurance that a handful of them had grown weary and reproachful of the king's rule over time.

Jace sighed, burying his face further into Clary's chest. At least for now, he knew—or hoped—that as far as the Clave members or general politicians in Idris went, he could count on the Consul, Patrick Penhallow, to be on his and Jon's side. Jon's thorough investigation had led him to believe as much; Patrick had descended from a long line of ancestors, all Penhallows, who had faithfully served as either Consuls or Inquisitors in Idris. The latter's own father, George Penhallow, had served as Consul during the time of Stephen's rule and had been close to the Herondales. A man with such a principled upbringing definitely merited his trust as an ally; he couldn't possibly betray them, right?

"Jace?" Clary's gentle voice broke him out of his musings.

"Hmm?" he asked, planting a soft kiss on her chest.

"What are you thinking about, honey?" she asked him in the same sensitive, gentle voice. That was how she was with him now—sensitive, gentle, affectionate and loving.

Jace removed his head from Clary's chest, his face hovering just inches away from hers, and his forearms on either side of her head. He smiled down at her. "Nothing you're not already well aware of, sweetheart," he told her softly, his fingers brushing her cheek with feather-like touches.

Clary slid her hands up his face, threading her fingers through his hair. "Jace?" He looked down at his young wife, amazed by how vulnerable, and yet, how stunningly beautiful she looked.

"Kiss me," she told him, and he complied, bending down to kiss her deeply yet languidly, his hands gently cupping the sides of her face. There was no need to rush; he just wanted to savor every moment they had left with each other.

When they their kiss finally ended, Jace rolled off Clary, his right arm tucked beneath his head as he stretched himself out on his side of the bed. She automatically curled up against him, her head resting on his chest, her arms coiled around his waist.

Feeling the need to hold her closer to him, Jace removed his arm from beneath his head and entwined their fingers together, his free hand stroking Clary's auburn tresses as he tangled their legs together. He smiled. The act felt so natural, as though they'd been doing it for years instead of a short two months.

"I had my 'wedding' dress fitting earlier this afternoon," Clary told Jace with a forlorn sigh.

It was one of the routines they'd picked up on since their wedding, apart from their lovemaking. They would never fail to tell each other about their day; it was a mutual decision they've made to never keep any secrets from each other—at least, Jace hoped that Clary hadn't been keeping anything from him. It still unsettled him that she'd been crying when he'd come in, and he could only hope that what Isabelle had said—that Clary was only emotional because she'd been remembering her childhood—was true.

"It was really annoying. Sebastian's here, did you know?" she asked, immediately drawing Jace's attention back to her. "He keeps bothering me, looking at me as though I was some piece of meat he could chew on. And he even had the gall to kiss me! It was disgusting. I really hate him, Jace," she grumbled against his chest.

Jace could feel his chest tighten with anger—_with jealousy_. How dare that bastard lay his eyes on his wife? How dare he place his lips on her?

But despite his envy, Jace would never take his anger out on Clary. He knew that she would never betray him; she was faithful to him. And above all else, he trusted his wife.

"Don't worry about him, sweetheart. Once Valentine is dead, he won't be able to bother you anymore. Besides, he can't marry you when you're married to me. And I don't plan on leaving you anytime soon," he said with conviction, planting a soft kiss on her hair.

"You promise?" she asked in a small voice.

"I promise, Clary. We're going to make out of this alive. We will. Just have faith in me," he answered.

"I do have faith in you. You're_ my _gladiator. I've seen you fight, and there's no one better than you. You won me over the first time I saw you fight, and you'll definitely win the crowd over," she said, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you for saying that. It helps when you stroke my ego every once in a while," he said, a smirking tone in his voice.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Why, of course, dear husband. It is the duty of the wife after all to make sure that your self-confidence is always intact," she said sarcastically, eliciting a deep chuckle from Jace.

"Well then, I must say…you're doing a _splendid_ job as a wife," he replied sincerely.

Clary smiled, turning over so that her entire body was aligned on top of his. She brushed her nose against his cheekily and Jace groaned as her lower body rubbed against his length, causing him to become fully aroused again.

"You're being very mean to me. And here I thought we were going to sleep," he said in a strained voice.

She gave him a vixen-like smile, purposely rolling her hips over him again. Jace's eyes widened and his hips bucked wildly from beneath her.

"_Clary!_" he whisper-yelled, beginning to pant a little. He gripped the bed sheets in his hands tightly, his knuckles turning white at his attempt to control himself.

"_You behave yourself, young lady_," he scolded her in between heavy breaths, sweat beginning to roll off his brow.

Clary grinned wider, and much to Jace's unexpectedness, she brazenly slid herself down onto his hard length, enveloping him deep within her tight walls. Jace's eyes widened again before they rolled to the back of his head, and he let out a loud moan. His chest heaved up and down rapidly as his breathing became uneven. He released his grip on the bed sheets, shifting his hands to seize Clary's hips hard.

"_You're a very naughty girl_,_ Clarissa Herondale,_" he growled at her as she began to move on top of him at a torturously slow pace.

She raised an eyebrow at him cockily, one of the more 'endearing' traits he'd rubbed off on her. "But you love me anyway, Jace Herondale," she said in a mocking tone, mirroring his words to her the morning after their wedding.

Jace growled again before pulling Clary down to him, kissing her feverishly and with urgency, guiding her hips to move faster against him. He was closely approaching his release, when all of the sudden, a loud knocking on the door interrupted them.

"_Fuck_," Jace muttered exasperatedly, his eyes squeezing shut with concentration as his head fell backwards onto the pillow.

Clary kissed him chastely before detaching herself from him. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she whispered against his lips as she got out of the bed, quickly draping the robe she had been wearing earlier around her naked body.

"Wait! You're just going to leave me here to answer the door?" he hissed at her incredulously, his breathing still ragged.

Clary looked at her husband guiltily as she bit on her bottom lip. "Jace, it could be important. Jon wouldn't have interrupted us otherwise. Besides, you said so yourself that Jon would come by after his meeting to talk to you," she said quietly.

"Well, what am I supposed to do about _this_?" he asked her breathlessly, gesturing to his still, very much aroused manhood.

Clary arched her eyebrow at him, her lips twitching into a half-smirk. "Well, honey, why don't you go over to the bathroom to deal with _it_?" she asked him with mocking puppy dog eyes.

The knocking on the door sounded again.

Jace groaned. "Your brother has the worst timing ever," he said, rubbing his hands over his face with clear vexation.

Clary cast Jace a mischievous look, and without warning, she bent down and squeezed his aroused member with her hand, causing Jace to practically fly off the bed. He glared at her with a pained look in his eyes.

"Better make it quick, Jacey," she said in a teasing voice as she walked away from him and towards the door. "And get dressed," she added sternly over her shoulder, not fancying her brother having another apoplectic fit at the sight of her naked husband.

Jace sighed in frustration, retrieving his clothes from the top of the wooden dresser before waddling away like a duck—he silently cursed himself for even associating himself with the foul beast—and entering the bathroom just as Clary sent him another glare from the door.

_'How could the woman I love torture me like this?'_ Jace thought sulkily before shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Once her husband was out of sight, Clary smoothed down her hair, hoping not to get another lecture from her brother about her _activities _with Jace.

She paused momentarily, pressing her head against the door as the familiar twinge of guilt seized her. She knew that what she had been doing went completely against her earlier worries, that by allowing herself to make love with Jace, she was only exposing herself to the risk of getting pregnant.

But as much as it unsettled her, she just couldn't deny Jace, nor any chance to be intimately close to him. She had a duty as his wife, and she would do anything in her power to make her husband happy—especially since these next few days they had with each other could very well be their _last_.

Pushing the thoughts away from the forefront of her mind, Clary placed her hand on the doorknob, checking herself once more to make sure that she was decent. With a deep breath, she opened the door and a sharp gasp escaped her.

The person standing on the other side of the door was definitely not who Clary had been expecting at all.

It wasn't her brother.

It was Sebastian.

And he was staring at her with a lust-filled, predatory look in his eyes.

"Clarissa," he purred seductively, causing Clary to snap out of her stunned state immediately.

"Sebastian," she returned in a venomous tone. "It's late. You shouldn't be here. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to return to my sleep," she said icily before attempting to close the door shut on him.

Sebastian moved fast, wedging his foot in between the crack in the doorway.

"Now, now, Clarissa. That was really rude," he said in a calm yet calculative tone, his black eyes darkening even further, if that was even possible. "Why don't you invite me in, so we can practice for our wedding night?" he said maliciously, pushing Clary out of the way before waltzing into her bedroom and swiftly locking the door behind him.

When he saw that Clary was only wearing a robe, a scheming smirk made its way onto his face. "Why, Clarissa, you're even dressed for the occasion. Now if that isn't a request for my company, then I don't know what is. Come, Clarissa. I can show you the many ways that I can pleasure you," he whispered huskily against her ear.

"Get out," Clary snapped at him resentfully. She shoved Sebastian away from her roughly just as he'd placed his hands on her waist and attempted to caress her sides.

Instantly, Sebastian's face changed. He looked livid, his black eyes darkened to the point that it made him look inhuman.

With a scowl, he skulked towards Clary menacingly, and she retreated backwards until she hit a wall, her green eyes wide with fear and horror as he closed in on her. In her mind, she was screaming only one thing—_'JACE! JACE! JACE!'_—but the man in question was nowhere to be seen; he was still in the bathroom, taking his own sweet time doing God knows what.

Sebastian pressed his body against hers, gripping both her wrists tightly in one hand and pinning them above her head. "You might as well enjoy this, Clarissa. Because this will only be the first of what's to come for you when we get married," he snarled against her ear.

He licked his way down her cheek before moving to her neck, biting on her skin to mark her. His other hand began touching the bare skin underneath her robe, dangerously inching up her thigh.

Clary's breath hitched, and without warning, Sebastian slammed his mouth against hers, his slick tongue roughly forcing its way into her mouth. Unable to take it anymore, Clary bit down hard on his tongue, revulsion instantly filling her as she tasted his foul blood in her mouth.

With a feral growl, Sebastian jerked his head away from her roughly before he slapped her hard across the cheek, his black eyes burning her as she tumbled to the floor in a helpless heap.

* * *

Jace was pulling on his shirt when all of a sudden, he heard Clary's loud, piercing screams coming from the bedroom.

Reacting purely on his instincts, he immediately burst out of the bathroom, and his golden eyes widened in horror as he saw Sebastian straddling Clary's hips on the floor, about to rape her.

_No fucking way._ He'd watched this scene before—eight years ago, with his mother being pinned in the exact same position by Valentine. He wasn't going to stand around and watch this time as Sebastian raped _his_ wife.

Faster than he had ever moved before, Jace lunged at Sebastian and knocked him off of Clary hard, a wild and dangerous look in his eyes. He didn't even wait for Sebastian to make a move, immediately throwing rapid punches on his face.

His fists were brutal—punishing, unforgiving, unrelenting—as though he'd been possessed by an all-consuming ire.

But Sebastian was just as strong-willed. He fought back, mustering whatever strength he had left in his body to flip them over so that he was on top of Jace, his own fists hammering down on the gladiator.

Seeing Jace in trouble, Clary's instincts kicked in. She ran over to the bedside table, retrieving the brass candelabra before fiercely clobbering Sebastian on the back of his head with the heavy instrument.

The effect was instantaneous—

Sebastian's assault on Jace ceased as he cried out in pain from the force of Clary's hit, and he fell to his side, black dots beginning to obstruct his vision. Seizing the advantage, Jace swiftly lifted his knee and delivered a low blow to Sebastian, causing the latter to roll on the floor in agony, both hands clutching his crotch area.

"Clary, get dressed! NOW!" Jace ordered her, his attention still focused on Sebastian.

Immediately obeying Jace, Clary dashed towards her wardrobe, not even paying attention as she pulled out a forest green dress from the rack. She chucked the robe off of her and pulled the gown over her naked frame, her heart drumming with panic and adrenaline from everything that had occurred within the short amount of time.

Jace landed a harsh kick on Sebastian's stomach, feeling satisfied when he heard him let out a pained grunt. "Don't you ever lay your fucking hands on my wife ever again, you fucking son of a bitch," Jace snarled at him, punctuating his statement with a powerful punt to his skull to knock him out cold.

"Jace, we need to go," Clary said urgently as the voices of her father's guards resounded from the corridor.

Jace immediately sobered from his angry haze, moving away from Sebastian and towards his wife. "All right, Clary, let's move," he replied, gripping her hand in his tightly as he led them towards the fireplace.

He twisted the lever, exposing the secret door and he ushered Clary to crawl in first. She did so without protest, and Jace hurriedly scrambled in after her, closing the secret door just as he heard the door to Clary's room being broken down.

* * *

Darkness greeted them as they entered the musty tunnels. In their haste to escape, they had forgotten to bring a lamp or a candle with them, and now, they relied on Jace's instincts and his memory of the tunnels alone to guide them to the exit in the stables.

Jace's mind was running, faster than the speed that he and Clary were sprinting at right now. He probably wouldn't have given a damn if he were to get caught by Valentine, but he _couldn't_—not when he had to factor Clary in. If they had stayed behind, Valentine would most probably punish Clary just as severely as he would Jace for harboring him, for being married to him—and he couldn't let that happen to Clary. He had to protect her, and as much as he wanted to kill Valentine, he couldn't risk any harm befalling his wife. He had to at least get her to safety first—_away from here_.

Beside him, Clary was distinctly slowing down, her hand worryingly growing limp in Jace's. She was breathing erratically, her breaths coming out in rapid puffs and sharp gasps—like she was having a panic attack.

Quickly, Jace tugged Clary to a stop, cupping her cheeks in both his hands and demanding her to look at him. His golden eyes having adjusted to the darkness, he realized that she was hyperventilating, her tiny body shaking violently.

"Hey, hey… Clary, sweetheart—look at me. Look into my eyes, honey," he coaxed her, and slowly, her green eyes met his gold ones. "Now, focus on my breathing. Don't think about anything else; just breathe with me," he continued in a gentle voice.

He watched as she slowly regained herself, her breathing returning to normal. He smiled at her reassuringly, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. "Good girl," he murmured. "Now, listen to me, Clary. We don't have much time. We need to go. I need you to stay strong for me. Can you do that?" he asked her in a steady yet grave tone.

"Yes," she managed in a strong voice despite the fact that she was falling apart on the inside.

"Okay, let's go. Double-time," he said, pulling her hand as they broke into another run.

The trips Jace had taken each night through the secret passageways since the night of their wedding had proven to be a tremendous help. He found their way out to the stables quickly, with only a few minor stumbles along the way.

As soon as the exit had been revealed, Jace wasted no time in hoisting Clary up, easily lifting her through the trapdoor that was conveniently located at Wayfarer's stall. He followed her moments later, long strides hurtling towards the direction of his faithful steed, who upon seeing his masters, greeted them urgently, as though he knew that they were in danger.

Barely even having enough time to saddle up the horse, Jace mounted him, making sure that Clary was seated securely behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He kicked open the door to the stall, and with a huff, Wayfarer galloped speedily out of the stables, just as Valentine's guards made their presence known, their angry shouts and heavy-sounding footsteps trailing behind the fleeing couple.

* * *

They rode on, hard and fast, racing straight into the cavernous depths of Forbidden Forest. Familiar cedar trees darkened by mist greeted them, and Jace tightened his grip on the reins, urging Wayfarer to run faster, _faster_, away from the chaos.

Soon enough, he saw the clearing, and the unmistakable tree that they so often passed through to get into the meadow. There was no slowing down, no stopping this time—Jace led Wayfarer charging straight towards the archway in the tree, holding his breath as they burst into the meadow, the light of the fireflies greeting them just as they made their unceremonious entrance.

Bringing Wayfarer to a standstill, Jace was about to heave a sigh of relief when all of sudden, the sounds of shouting men and stamping hooves approached, and seconds later, Valentine's entourage of men appeared in the meadow.

Swearing loudly, Jace dug his heels into the stirrup and nudged Wayfarer onward again—away, as far away as remotely possible from the guards as they began unsheathing their swords and brandishing them in the air.

To Jace's agitation, the meadow was endless. There was nothing but flora and even more flora—no mountains, valleys, or ridges loomed ahead; nothing but grass covering the infinite distance.

Where could they possibly be running to? Where would they even hide?

Clary's breath hitched as she dared a peek over her shoulder at the pursuing party. They were fiercely gaining speed on them, the glint of metal from their swords and armors illuminating the ferocious scowls on their faces, intimidating her.

Just as she was about to bury her face into Jace's back, Clary felt Wayfarer jerk violently, and moments later, all three of them were sent tumbling viciously to the ground.

Clary screamed, immediately rushing over to Jace who was willing Wayfarer to get up.

But the brown horse could not get up; his feet were bound together tightly by a heavy metallic sling that had no doubt been released by one of Valentine's men.

Moving as a unit, they dismounted their horses, their swords and whips lashing out savagely at the couple as they approached.

Clary huddled against Jace as he crushed her to his body, protecting her despite his own state of defenselessness. She faintly heard Jace swearing at the men before a vicious struggle ensued, and then, she was suddenly ripped away from her husband's safe embrace.

She barely registered the pain as she was flung to the ground, her only energy spent on watching, with traitorous tears streaming down her face, as Jace kicked and lashed out against Valentine's guards, all despite knowing that his efforts would be futile. His golden eyes blazed with ire, not giving away even the slightest hint of fear—even as the sharp tip of a blade was pressed menacingly to his throat. Instead, a malicious grin made its way onto his golden face before he reeled backwards and spit into the face of the man closest to him.

The man whipped his head to the side with an enraged scowl, wiping his face of the gladiator's spittle before he swiftly retaliated. With an iron-clad fist, he delivered a brutal uppercut to Jace, who fell limp immediately after the hit.

The rest of the men didn't waste any time as they bound the unconscious gladiator's hands and feet up with iron chains before dragging him onto one of their own horses. Once the gladiator had been dealt with, they turned their attention to Clary, who cowered away feebly from their menacing scowls and barks.

Tears of hysteria flooded her vision, and suddenly, breathing proved to be a near-impossible task for the redheaded princess. It didn't take long for black spots to cloud Clary's own vision, then, all faded into nothingness.

* * *

**A/N:**

Uh-oh. Our favorite couple can never catch a break, can't they?

Leave me your thoughts with:

(1) The scene in the beginning with Izzy and Clary and Jace (that was an all-new scene that I recently just wrote in btw)...What do you guys think? Is Clary pregnant? I mentioned this last chapter—whether or not she is, at this point, it's purely speculative, so there's a chance that she _might _not be...nevertheless, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

(2) Sebastard's reappearance. It was going to happen at some point... Anyways, Sebastian has given an all-new meaning to cockblocker, and I seriously wished that when Jace had kneed him in the crotch earlier, his manly parts would have shrivelled up and fallen off. Damn it. But, ah, at least now we know HOW Clary and Jace are found out by Sebastian and Valentine...

(3) What do you think will happen next chapter? Yes, our favorite daddy Valentine will be in the next chapter, so do remember to throw in your predictions on what you think will happen between him, Jace and Clary.

I can't think of anything else to ask you guys on this chapter, but please feel free to comment on anything. Everything in this story had already been planned from scratch before I wrote, with only a few changes and additions along the way, so please don't hate me when something goes awry because conflict is always necessary for progress.

Lastly, not that I like pointing out this fact, but, reviews have dropped in the last chapter and I can't help but wonder why because I had been so excited to post the last chapter...regardless, I'm still happy and appreciative of my reviewers and PM-ers so far for the amazing moral boost!:) I won't press for reviews because that's your own free will, but I sincerely hope that you guys will review, especially since this story is ending soon;)

I'll do my best to get the next chapter out next weekend, but until then, have a great week ahead!:) Love ya'll:)

XO!

~N


	20. Chapter 19: The Kings Have Spoken

**Author's Note:**

Hehe. I don't even know why I'm laughing. Must be going crazy.

Anyways, I just wanna take this time to address a review by **Anon**.

Honestly, I really just cracked up reading your review although it was meant to be serious, because truthfully, I think you're the first person to predict that Clary would die...heh. So to answer your question... No, Clary won't die (or would she?) I don't know. (Or do I?) *Self-conversations, a direct proof of my mental instability*

Anyway, before I get too sidetracked, the reason why Clary's, um, 'pregnancy' won't matter is because I've purely decided that I don't want to play the pregnancy card. Enough complexities already exist as it is, and God, I'm not going to be so evil to put Clace's precious baby at risk. Eh, sorta.

So yes, all my Clace baby supporters, I know, Clace baby = so cute, but there's always a chance that they don't conceive even despite having countless unprotected sex. *Hey, it happens...* Maybe Clary was just being paranoid. I'm rambling, aren't I? But honestly, there's other things to worry about than just Clary being pregnant. I mean, let's not forget the giant elephant in the room, like I don't know, Valentine(?), hence, that's why Clary is adamant on not finding out whether or not she's really pregnant until everything's over.

To my guest reviewer **Kailey**, no worries or apologies necessary:) I'm grateful that you took the time to review, along with my other reviewers! All of you guys rock!:) Thank you all so much!

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 19: The Kings Have Spoken**

A vicious slap of cold water against his face dragged Jace out of his pit of unconsciousness. He awoke, spluttering, his golden eyes burning with rage and abhorrence as he came face-to-face with Valentine's demonic black eyes.

He looked the same as Jace had last seen him, with his white-blonde hair and his signature cruel smirk etched onto his angular face—the face that Jace loathed with every beat of his living heart.

Ever the remorseless bastard, Valentine Morgenstern was seated upon the throne that had once belonged to Stephen Herondale, his black eyes cold and calculative as they goaded and taunted the gladiator.

On instinct, Jace snarled savagely, baring his teeth in a feral scowl. Memories of what happened eight years ago pulsed through his mind like a surge of déjà vu, and if it weren't for the sole fact that he was chained up, _again, _Jace would have launched himself onto white-haired fiend and rip his pathetic head off his shoulders—_and put his head up on display_—

Just like he had done to his mother.

"Well, well, well!" Valentine's thunderous voice boomed, instantly adding fuel to the soaring flames of Jace's rage. "The spawn of Stephen and Celine Herondale, at long last, has made his grand return to Idris!" He raised his arms mockingly, predatorily stalking towards the gladiator who lay in chains on the marble floor of the throne room.

"I hear you've been busy, boy. Making a name for yourself as a gladiator," he said, his black eyes staring off into the far distance as if he were recalling thoughtfully. "_Shadowhunter_, so they call you. They say you move so quick, you glide like the shadows! The youngest and yet one of the most feared gladiators known to all!"

He knelt down beside Jace on the floor with a dark chuckle, his tone as smug and superior as ever. "I take it you've been enjoying the life I've bestowed on you, spilling the blood of your lowbred kind in the arena. Oh, do tell—_Bloodlust_…it's such…" He trailed off, a sick look in his eyes. "…A _powerful _feeling, isn't it? The inexplicable euphoria it gives you when you take another's life into your own hands…as if you were God himself passing on judgment onto His sinners," he remarked blasphemously, his obsidian eyes not even flickering as they met Jace's gold ones.

"Valentine," Jace returned in a cold voice. "So nice to see you again after all these years. Pray tell, how has the life of a king been treating you? Had your fun stealing the people's money to fund your games? Or better yet, had your fun collecting people's heads?" he spat, wasting no time at all in jumping straight to the point. He paused thoughtfully, before sneering in a resentful tone, "Or is it just my mother's?"

Valentine's eyes darkened and his smirk instantly fell from his lips, replaced by an ugly scowl. "Careful what you say, _boy_. I can easily end your life within a matter of seconds," he hissed venomously, all pretenses of niceties gone.

Jace returned the fiend with a dark smile. "Ooh, scary! Was that supposed to make me wet my pants and beg you for clemency?" the gladiator challenged him. "In that case, I'm afraid I might have to ask you for a rain check because it's not happening today. In fact, even if hell decided to freeze over, I still wouldn't beg you," Jace said before lowering his voice dangerously, warningly. "Listen to me, Valentine. I made a promise to you eight years ago—a promise to end _you_. And for as long as there is still breath left in my body, I intend to deliver on my word."

At Jace's threat, Valentine bellowed with heavy laughter. "My dear boy, you haven't changed one bit. All bark and no bite! Look at you—" He gestured to Jace, trying to stifle guffaw. "You're all chained up, like the dog that you are. How do you suppose you are going to carry out your little threat to kill me? Please! Amuse me!"

"Face me," Jace said simply.

"What was that?" He raised an amused eyebrow, the same, stupid smile still plastered onto his face.

"You heard me, _you son of a bitch_," Jace snarled, anger oozing out of his veins like heavenly fire. "Release me from these chains and face me like a real man! Face me in the arena! Or are you going to be that sniveling, little coward and hide behind your army? Behind your gladiators? You claim that you love the games, so face me! Give the people the fight they want to see!" he shouted furiously, rattling the chains in the process.

Infuriatingly impervious to Jace's tirade, Valentine tilted his head to the side and quirked his lips in amusement. "And why should I listen to you?" He drawled his words out lazily, his tone giving away nothing but a heinous mirth.

He brought his face closer to Jace's, his breath hot against the gladiator's face as he spoke. "Let us be _frank_ here. The people don't even know you exist. As far as they're concerned, the Herondale son perished along with his parents the night I conquered Idris. What sort of conviction could you possibly offer to them? They're more likely to believe that you're mad, _delusional_, claiming to have ties with a dead king. Tell me, what good would your word be against mine?" He pulled back, grinning in self-satisfaction before turning his back on Jace and plopping himself down nonchalantly on his throne.

Jace locked eyes with Valentine from across the room, his golden orbs burning like two pots of molten lava. "That's where you're wrong," he said in a calculated voice. "_One look_. One look at me, and the people will know that I am who I say I am. Just like how your son bears an uncanny resemblance to you, I, too, resemble my father—and that is something you cannot shield from their eyes."

At that, Jace noticed the distinct change in Valentine's stance, how his posture became more tense and rigid, how his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

Jace smirked, knowing he had struck a nerve. "You seem to forget one thing, Valentine. Idris thrived under my father's rule. My father gained the loyalty and the love of the people. It was under your rule that they are slowly perishing."

He licked his lips, putting his words together in the same measured tone. "As far as I'm concerned, the only reason behind how you've managed to contain them after all these years is because you used fear to control them. But _hope_…hope is stronger, more powerful than any amount of fear you can only _hope_ to instill in them. And I will be the one to give my people hope. I will be the one to restore Idris to its former glory. And I will do it by killing you in front of them," Jace deadpanned.

Valentine inhaled sharply and was about to open his mouth to retaliate when an all-too-familiar female voice cut in.

"Jace!" Clary cried out, instantly breaking the intense staredown between the gladiator and the king.

Instinctively, Jace turned his gaze towards the direction of Clary's voice, his golden eyes softening as he met her emerald green eyes. She was running towards him, her tear-streaked face a mixture of fear and relief.

When she was finally close enough, she tackled him to the ground, holding him in her arms in a vise-grip, murmuring his name over and over again in a frantic chant.

Jace inhaled deeply her scent as he buried his face in her red hair, the familiar smell of strawberries and vanilla temporarily quelling the blood-boiling hatred in his heart.

For a moment, he wished his hands were unshackled, just so he could pull Clary into his own arms and shield her from her father; just so he could run his hands through her fiery red hair, just to soothe her.

When Clary finally pulled away from their embrace, she cupped the sides of Jace's neck tightly in between her small hands, examining him worriedly for any injuries.

"Oh, Jace…you're bleeding," she sputtered out, her violently shaking hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. Actually, now that Jace paid closer attention to his wife, he realized that her entire body was shaking. Her teary green eyes were wide with fear and distress, and her soft, luscious fiery-red hair was now a dull and knotted mess.

"Shh…I'm fine, sweetheart. It's okay. We're going to be okay." He tried to reassure her, his chained hands reaching up to cup her face.

But before Jace could even touch her, Clary was violently ripped away from him and dragged to Valentine's feet by the hair. She screamed and thrashed around desperately, her hands flailing and clawing for Jace but he could do nothing to retrieve her.

"Let her go!" Jace yelled furiously as he, too, writhed from his chained-up position on the floor. "Let her go, Valentine!"

Unfazed by the gladiator's angry yells of protest, Valentine ripped his leather belt out from the loops of his pants and began to mercilessly whip his daughter over and over again, the cracking sounds of the belt reverberating through the entire room like an earthquake. Clary screamed, pleading with her father to cease his assault but her cries fell on deaf ears.

"VALENTINE! STOP!" Jace yelled lividly. "GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF MY WIFE!"

As soon as the words left Jace's mouth, Valentine dropped his belt and his head whipped around dangerously to face Jace. "Your wife? YOUR WIFE?" he spat out in outrageous disbelief.

Valentine laughed. "Well, boy, it seems that you have grown to have an absurd imagination! Clarissa isn't your wife! She will never be married to a worthless scoundrel like you! _I forbid it!_" His black eyes widened, morphing into a crazed glare.

Jace laughed mirthlessly in return. "Well, it seems that nobody gave a fuck about your blessing!" In an even more sarcastic tone, Jace added, "Our apologies, Daddy dearest, but it seems that it must have slipped our minds to invite you to our wedding. You see, it was a very intimate ceremony. Only the people whom we actually gave a shit about were there to witness it. But, oh, if that's not good enough for you and you insist on us having a big wedding, I'm sure Clary and I would be more than happy to consider it!"

Valentine growled and yanked Clary's head back sharply by her hair. "Clarissa, what is the meaning of all this?" he bellowed.

To his surprise—and to Jace's—Clary boldly spat in his face. "_Let my husband and I go, Valentine_," she snarled, her eyes shining with cold, angry tears.

Valentine turned red with outrage, and without warning, he roughly shoved his daughter from his side and onto floor, as if she weighed nothing more than a ragdoll.

Clary cried out in pain as she landed harshly next to Jace, her body curling in on itself defensively. She clutched her head shakily, and when she pulled her hand away, she found it smeared with thick crimson.

"Clary!" Jace called out, dragging himself over to his wife. He pulled himself up into a sitting position against the restraints, gently pulling Clary's head onto his lap. "Clary?" he asked in a soft, worried tone.

The redheaded princess turned her head towards the gladiator, _her husband_, and smiled weakly at him. "I'm fine, love. Don't worry about me," she said, her voice a mere whisper as she reached up a hand to cup his cheek. Jace turned his head, kissing her palm softly.

"I love you," he murmured against her palm, his eyes closed.

"I lo—" Clary was about to reply when Valentine's slow, mocking applause interrupted her.

The couple turned their heads towards Valentine, who was watching them with a contemptuous smile. "Look at this _touching_ scene! My daughter…consorting with the enemy…how absolutely _precious_," he sneered, narrowing his eyes at them in clear disdain. "How alike your mother you are, Clarissa. A traitor! PLOTTING AGAINST YOUR OWN FATHER!" he roared.

"YOU ARE _NOT _MY FATHER!" Clary yelled back, her voice surprisingly strong—not even tinged with a slight hint of tremor despite the heavy tears raining down her face. She was completely incensed. "My father is supposed to love me and protect me. _You?_ You've done nothing but shoot me down and hurt me. You've lost the right to call yourself my father the moment you ended my mother's life!" she shouted, hurt transparent on her face as she finally uttered those words aloud.

Valentine was stunned into momentary silence, unable to grasp the fact that his _weakling _daughter, whom he had spent her entire life ordering around, had actually dared to stand up to him.

"I know all your dirty little secrets, Valentine, and I'm not going to just sit by and watch you carry out your vile, wretched plans anymore. I won't be used as a pawn in your stupid little games—and neither will anyone else. _You're done_," she finished, her green eyes bright with determination, her chest heaving rapidly with angry breaths.

Valentine barked out a cold, wicked laughter that sent chills down Clary and Jace's spines from just listening to it; it had sounded so vile, like the scratching of nails against polished wood. "I never thought I'd live to see this day. The _dog_ and the _bitch_ uniting to take me down…" His black eyes bore into his daughter's green ones, but for the first time in her life, she didn't waver from them.

"I always knew that you would disappoint me one day, Clarissa. And it was against my better lack of judgment that I thought I could save you from yourself. But now, you leave me with no choice. You shall face the gallows, along with your _beloved husband_," he spat out the words like boiling acid.

"NO!" A stern voice thundered, instantly cutting off Valentine's decision.

Spontaneously, their heads all turned towards the source of interruption. Clary and Jace had expected it to be Clary's brother, Jon, but were surprised instead when they found it to be Sebastian.

His face was decorated with several cuts and bruises that shone purple against his pale skin, his nose hinted with a crust of dried blood—all a result of Jace's earlier assault in the bedroom.

They all stared at Sebastian wonderingly, baffled as to why he was opposing Valentine's verdict when he was supposedly on the latter's side. Seeing the need to assert his authority, Valentine was the first to break the silence.

"King Sebastian, I apologize but I'm afraid that I simply cannot deliver on my promise to wed you to my daughter," he said sharply. "She has tainted the Morgenstern blood by marrying this _slave_ of a Herondale, therefore, the only way I can seek to rectify her mistake is by condemning her to her death. There can be no other ruling." He enunciated his words sternly.

"I am well aware of her betrayal, King Valentine. But as it is, I still object to your decision," Sebastian countered, his gaze hard as he stopped in front of the throne, directly face-to-face with Valentine.

"What will your people say when they find out that you've executed your own daughter?" he asked rhetorically, causing Valentine to look stumped for once.

"Your decision will do nothing but damage your own reputation. Clarissa is well-loved by her people…they _will_ question you on why you had her killed, and then, _you_ will be forced to reveal to them of her scandalous marriage to this slave—and that will only taint the Morgenstern name even more," he said with pure conviction. "Is that what you want? To lose your people's already-dwindling faith and trust in you? To lose your throne?" he demanded.

"What do you propose then, Your Highness?" Valentine asked, his callous façade slowly crumbling.

"To go forward with the original plan. I will wed with Clarissa."

Behind them, Clary and Jace protested fiercely but Sebastian carried on as if they weren't even there.

"I will take her as my wife as if none of this ever happened. We will mask her marriage to this—_gladiator_," Sebastian said the word distastefully.

"And what of _him_?" Valentine asked, leaning forward in his throne, a cold finger directed to Jace.

At that, Sebastian turned around to face Jace, his black eyes as animalistic as ever as his lips curled into a devious smirk. "Leave him to me. _I_ will face him in the arena five days from now," he said, his eyes locked with Jace's.

"I'll be more than happy to send you to hell," Jace finally spoke up in a chirpy voice, a pleased grin on his face. Clary gave her husband a look of despair and discreetly pinched his arm, causing him to flinch a little.

Valentine rose from his throne brusquely and tugged Sebastian to the side, not caring at all that the king of Alicante was his equal.

"You are asking for suicide," he hissed at Sebastian, making sure to lower his voice from being heard by the gladiator. "That boy is more skilled than you think. He'll kill you," Valentine said, shaking his head a little.

Sebastian only smiled in return. "Your concern for me is flattering, Your Highness, but I stand by my decision. There are more reasons for me doing this than you know."

"Then by all means, do tell me your reasons," Valentine urged. He clearly did not like being kept in the dark. "Ease me of my compunctions of letting you face him. I do not want to have to answer to why the king of Alicante was killed by a gladiator in _my_ arena. I will not be held responsible, especially since you do not even possess an heir to your throne," he said, his voice rough.

Sebastian rolled his black eyes at Valentine, mildly irritated at his lack of faith in his ability to end the gladiator. He huffed, raising an index finger impatiently to make his point. "One—for my own personal satisfaction," he plainly stated.

"That gladiator has insulted me on more than one occasion. This is the only way I see fit in getting my revenge and in restoring my fallen pride. After all, this is a sport, and I do enjoy a good fight." Sebastian snorted, mostly to himself. "As will _the people_. I assure you, they'd…'appreciate' my match with the gladiator very much…and once that happens, it'll give them something else to talk about other than their displeasure with you robbing them of their money with your taxes." He nodded to himself, and Valentine mimicked the gesture in thoughtful consideration.

"Two—" He lifted up two fingers in front of Valentine. "To teach Clarissa a lesson on her defiance." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyeing the feisty redhead who was wrapped around her husband and glaring at the two kings pointedly.

Sebastian smirked at her, not taking his eyes off of her as he spoke. "What better way than to put her back in her place and to brutally punish her than to let her watch her own husband being murdered in front of her?" His chest shook as he chuckled. "It'll break her—once and for all. She wouldn't dare step out of line once her husband is dead and eaten by the lions for dinner. And if we're lucky, she might even lose the will to speak and do whatever she's told, no questions asked," he said with sick satisfaction as he pictured himself ravaging the princess the way he wanted to without her protest.

"And three—" He raised three fingers, tearing his gaze back to Valentine before shrugging nonchalantly. "See it as I'm honoring a 'tribute' to _you_." He clapped a hand down on Valentine's shoulder. "Since you are so opposed to manning up and fighting the gladiator yourself, I'll do it for you in your stead." Instead of making the statement sound blatantly insulting to Valentine, he found it strangely flattering.

"Furthermore," Sebastian continued, "you can see it as your whole revenge on the Herondales coming full circle. The boy returned to his homeland only to be slaughtered in front of his people—a public execution masked in the disguise of a fight-to-the-death match. Perfect way to humiliate his dead father and mother—let them see their entire legacy vanish with his son. And of course, to set an example to your people. Show them who's in charge, who holds the power—not them, and certainly not the gladiators, no matter how invincible they think they are."

Valentine's face regained its callousness and he beamed at Sebastian. "You do make a fair argument there," he acknowledged before nodding his approval. "Very well. We will carry out your decision. In five days, I look forward to seeing this Herondale scum perish by your hand in the arena. And after, we'll have a celebratory feast and magnificent wedding for you and my daughter," Valentine said happily.

Sebastian grinned, his black eyes trained on Clary's green ones lustfully. "_As long as Clarissa will finally be mine_," he muttered darkly.

* * *

Jace curled in on himself, his face warping into a tight grimace as Sebastian's men continued their vicious assault on him.

They've been at it for close to an hour now, beating and kicking him senselessly as they had since over two nights ago, when Jace had been thrown into the cell and Clary had been forcibly separated from him.

58 hours.

Fifty-eight long, devastating hours—

That was how long Jace had been chained and abused, with neither a speck of food nor a drop of water for sustenance.

As it turns out, Sebastian hadn't been stupid, after all. Quite the contrary, he was actually unbelievably devious and cunning.

Unbeknownst to either Jace or Valentine, before he'd even suggested facing Jace in the arena for the games, Sebastian had already plotted and formulated the perfect strategy in his conniving brain on how he would defeat the gladiator. He'd started off by separating Jace from his wife, and then he'd locked him up in a cell with barely enough room for oxygen before he'd begun his slow, draining process of torturing him, starving him and dehydrating him.

Jace knew what Sebastian was doing. He was purposely weakening him both physically and mentally, and then, when Jace could barely be able to stand on his own two feet, he would drag him out to the arena and put on a show just to mock him before killing him in front of the thousands.

That was the extent of Sebastian's cruelty.

Against his will, a pained cry made its way out of Jace's throat as one of Sebastian's men landed a heavy, forceful blow to his back, momentarily making him choke weakly for breath. Jace pressed his face against the floor of the cell, clenching his eyes shut tightly as his body trembled in agony against their continued assault.

In the back of his mind, he thought of Clary, wondering about what they'd done to her, wondering if they were torturing her as they were torturing him. He wouldn't put it past Sebastian and Valentine to hurt Clary. Neither of them had any respect for human beings other than themselves, much less respect for a woman, a young _girl_ like Clary.

But despite knowing that, despite knowing how cruel both Valentine and his handpicked son-in-law were, Jace still prayed that his wife would be safe, that they would not have laid a finger on her head. He wanted nothing more than for her to be safe, for her to be untouched. God knows that if anything else were to happen to Clary, Jace wouldn't be able to forgive himself. He couldn't.

The sound of the cell door clanging open drew the attention of Sebastian's men away from the weakened gladiator. They ceased their assault on him, turning to greet the devil's equal himself, Sebastian.

Jace raised his head weakly, his eyes squinting from the amount of pain and torture he'd endured to send Sebastian a weak glare.

Without even sparing his men a glance, Sebastian dismissed them, grinning as he took quick, measured steps towards Jace. He plopped himself down beside the gladiator's crumpled form, clicking his tongue at him in mock sympathy as he examined the dark and heavy bruises and scars that marred Jace's back.

"Oh dear," he began in a false worried tone, shaking his head as his hands lightly wandered over Jace's back.

"You look really terrible…" Sebastian continued in the same faked tone before hissing loudly, as if it physically pained him to look at Jace's bruises. "Tell me," he whispered into Jace's ear, "does it…_HURT_?" His voice reclaimed its cruel tone at the end, and on cue, he pressed his fist down hard against one of the larger bruises on Jace's lower back.

Jace winced sharply and unable to help himself, he let out a loud yell of pain.

Sebastian furiously twisted his large fist against Jace's back, adding more pressure onto his bruise. He laughed, his onyx eyes gleaming as the gladiator's shouts persisted, apparently finding it completely amusing to watch the latter succumb to the pain.

It would be so much easier and fun to kill him in the arena, Sebastian thought, his black heart practically racing with glee.

All he would have to do was to trip the gladiator over his own two feet, and then strike him down with his sword, slaughtering him like a useless little lamb. _Easy._

Before long, Jace's screams began to die down, his voice cracking painfully due to his scraped throat. He was shaking so much from the pain that the rivers of sweat pouring down his face and saturating his entire body made him feel cold to the bone. He wanted to move his limbs to push Sebastian away from him but he couldn't. He was too weak. Too tired. And in too much _pain._

Finally retracting his fist from Jace's back, Sebastian lay on his side next to the gladiator, his head propped up on one elbow, their faces level with each other's. Sebastian reached his hand out and mockingly brushed Jace's sweaty hair back from his face before yanking it backwards sharply in a tight fist.

Jace grunted in between clenched teeth, his breaths shallow, his bloodshot golden eyes squinted, glaring weakly at Sebastian.

"You poor, stupid boy," Sebastian said. "I wonder what Clarissa even sees in you—"

At the mention of Clary's name, Jace's weariness dissolved, replaced by pure anger. His golden eyes reclaimed their normal size, no longer squinting as he glowered at Sebastian.

"I mean, I understand why _you _would be attracted to her…she's a definite spitfire, all right…possibly even better to _fuck with_—"

"_Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch_," Jace growled in a hoarse voice. "_Don't you ever talk about my wife like that. Don't you even fucking dare touch her_," he warned, his breaths coming even heavier now.

Sebastian titled his head to the side, quirking his lips in a smirk. "What makes you think I haven't already _fucked her_?" he whispered into Jace's ear, and Jace shook even harder, his face turning redder with ire.

_"What makes you think I haven't kissed every inch of her soft, milky skin? What makes you think I haven't buried myself deep within her tight walls? What makes you think I haven't fucked her like every other girl who deserves to be properly fu_—_"_

Before Sebastian could finish his sentence, Jace drew his chained hands up to his chest and sent a hard, unexpected punch to Sebastian's face, making sure to use the metal restraints on his hands as a weapon to maximize the impact of his hit.

Sebastian flew backwards, his back slamming against the wall, his black eyes wide with shock at the gladiator's startling strength—though he quickly recovered his momentum.

With a feral snarl, Sebastian lunged forward, his large hand squeezing Jace's shoulder forcefully. Blood flowed from the gladiator's shoulder, from where Sebastian's nails were savagely digging into his skin, making him writhe and scream in agony.

Black spots began to cloud Jace's vision, multiplying and growing larger and larger each time, until finally,_ sweet_, complete darkness welcomed him again.

* * *

Clary paced back and forth restlessly, heavy dark circles marring the pale skin beneath her bloodshot green eyes as she continued to wear a hole in the wooden floor of her bedroom.

She hadn't slept a wink or eaten a bite. Not since Sebastian's—or Valentine's—men had locked her up in her bedroom 58 hours ago.

58 hours, Clary thought anxiously, which meant that it'll only be 62 hours or so before Jace would be forced to face Sebastian in the arena.

The very thought made Clary's stomach clench with pain and she sank down onto the floor in a shaky, pathetic mess. She drew her knees up to her chest, her jaw trembling as she fought to control herself from another breakdown.

She knew she needed to pull herself together, to not give in to her emotions, but without Jace—without her rock—Clary felt as if her soul had been ripped into two.

She was all alone. And she was scared.

Eyeing the room frantically, Clary grabbed Jace's pillow off the bed, hugging it tightly to her chest as she laid down on the floor. Inhaling the pillow deeply, she let her husband's scent waft through her nostrils and occupy the crevices of her shattering soul, filling the fissures of her broken heart.

Shakily, she reached into the collar of her dress, retrieving the Herondale ring that now lay on a silver chain around her neck—the ring Jace had given her for safekeeping the night of their engagement; the ring that she'd been wearing since the night of their forced separation, in hopes that it would bring her the solace she so craved. She ran her thumb over the engraving on the ring, and in an instant, as if death was beckoning her to it, her mind flooded with memories of all the precious moments she'd spent with Jace—

Their first meeting in the market square. Jace standing up for her in Dumont. Jace in the prison cells, a bloody mess, and her taking care of him. Jace telling her his name. Jace taking her through the Forbidden Forest and to the magical meadow. Cupcakes and their first kiss. Jace opening up to her about his past; him telling her that he loved her for the first time. Her finding out about Jace's true identity; their breakup…the horrible pain they'd both gone through, all of which that would later lead her to the happiest moments of her life: Jace proposing to her, their wedding in the meadow, Jace making love to her for the first time, and every other time after. And finally, the most heartbreaking moment of all—the one moment that haunted her the most—Jace mouthing to her the words 'I love you' before he was dragged away from her; dragged away from her for quite possibly forever.

Clary let out a choked sob, when all of a sudden, a searing ache pierced her heart. She grasped at her chest, breathing heavily, her emerald green eyes wide with shock.

It had been so sudden, but it didn't take long for Clary to realize that it could only mean that something was wrong. As a matter of fact, it wasn't just _something. _It was something that had to do _with Jace_ and she could feel it.

And for the first time in over two days, Clary felt not despair, but _anger_; anger that she'd thought had faded into nothing more than dying embers reignited itself into a wild flame, ready to burn.

Clary's eyes wandered to the silver trays of food that sat piling on the floor by her door, untouched and rotting away. She scowled at them angrily. Just the very sight of them sickened her. Not a speck of food they gave her was worth anything, not even a fraction's worth as compared to being with Jace.

They could take it all back to the kitchen and stuff it down their own throats for all she cared, Clary thought, feeling increasingly piqued. She didn't want them. Why would she when Jace was suffering, when he was probably starving away to death?

She didn't want any of Sebastian's pampering or coddling—she just wanted _her_ Jace. She would rather they lock her up in a dirty cell with him instead of imprisoning her in her grand bedroom; she didn't want any of his royalty treatment bullshit. She didn't _need_ it.

Empowered by her newfound courage and rage, Clary leaped onto her feet and with fierce determination, she pounded her tiny fists hard against the wooden door of her bedroom—the door that had been hastily rebuilt to replace the one the guards had broken down earlier.

It wasn't merely anger that was directed at her father or Sebastian that compelled her to action, but anger at herself as well. How could she be a self-pitying, subservient weakling when Jace had, time and time again, sacrificed himself for her?

She felt the delicate skin on her knuckles split from her ruthless pounding, but she didn't care. She continued to ram her fists against the door as she shouted furiously for Sebastian, yelling a list of ineffable names at him—names she had never dared to utter before because it was simply 'unbecoming of a lady'.

Pfft_. _Valentine could shove all his self-righteous principles up his goddamned ass. _Principle._ The bloody hypocrite.

"Sebastian! Let me out of here now, you fucking bastard! LET ME OUT!"

Unexpectedly, the door swung open with such force that Clary was pushed backwards and onto the floor. She cursed silently, her only regret for stubbornly refusing to eat was that she felt physically weaker than before. She probably looked like a bloody twig now, too.

"What the fuck do you want, Clarissa?" Sebastian demanded, his black eyes angry and impatient.

As Clary stared at him, she noticed a fresh new bruise on Sebastian's face and that his nose was now slightly crooked and bloody—_again._ Uncharacteristically, she smirked, a very Jace-like smirk, knowing that her husband had probably hit Sebastian in the face again.

"What the hell is so funny?" Sebastian growled, tugging her up by her arms roughly.

Clary winced from the amount of pressure that he was using to grip her, but she obstinately masked her pain and kept her smirk intact. "I was just admiring your pretty face, Sebastian," Clary said in a very innocent tone, her features—save for her smirk—as angelic as a cherub's. "Did Jace do that to you?" she asked, boldly raising her hand to poke the bruise on his face.

Sebastian gritted his teeth in vexation at Clary's gesture, and he increased the fierce pressure of his grip on her arms.

This time, Clary winced sharply, and her smirk turned into a grimace of pain. "Sebastian, let go—you're hurting me," she growled at him.

Sebastian, of course, wasn't hindered by Clary's words. He clutched her arms even tighter before hauling her up, as remotely close as possible towards him, their faces level with each other.

"You stupid, naïve, little bitch," he spat, his soulless black eyes glaring into her shiny green ones. "Do you really think that just because I've been kind enough to lock you up in here and treat you to all this fancy food that I would have softened up to you to the point where you can step all over me? You may have gotten that from your _dear husband_, but you won't get any of that fucking nonsense from me. I will never treat you as anything more than what you deserve. You are nothing more than a petty, spoilt girl who will bear my name and serve me as my wife. Do you understand?" he demanded, anger coating his every word.

Clary remained silent as she glared back at him. She would not falter. She would not let herself be made into his slave.

Increasingly vexed by her stubborn defiance, Sebastian shook Clary harshly in his grip before he flung her towards the bed, landing her right in the center of the mattress.

Clary gasped loudly, the impact knocking the air out of her lungs. When she finally caught her breath, she noticed Sebastian predatorily stalking towards her, his black eyes fixated on her with a look of animalistic lust.

Quickly fumbling off the bed, Clary ran towards the vanity, her heart racing wildly in her chest. She grabbed her wooden hairbrush off the table and pointed it towards Sebastian, as if it were a deadly weapon to keep him away from her, and he let out a loud chortle.

"Aw, isn't that just precious?" he mocked her, bending down a little as though he was speaking to a child. "Threatening me with a hairbrush! What are you going to do? Comb my hair and style it into tiny, little braids? Wouldn't that just be terrifying!"

"Keep away from me," Clary snarled, fighting against the tears that were beginning to prick her eyes. "If you have any respect for your goddamned self, you wouldn't touch me. Not when I still belong to another man," she said, her words coming out fierce and firm.

Sebastian laughed again. "Respect?" He echoed the word. "Oh, trust me, Clarissa, if it's anyone who has any ounce of understanding of the term self-respect, it's me. No one else respects me as much as I respect myself. _No one_—and especially not you_._"

"No, but at least I'm not a coward like you are," Clary returned in a steely voice, her lips curling up into a dark grin. She knew that she was purposely egging Sebastian on, that she was obviously crossing the line and testing his authority, but she wouldn't let him win over her without a fight.

"Coward?" Sebastian asked in a scary-calm voice. "Oh, do explain, by all means, Clarissa, what you mean by that bold statement of yours," he said, playing along with her.

He sat himself on top of the bed—and _on_ _Jace's side_, Clary couldn't help but notice furiously—his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed casually behind his head as his black eyes taunted her.

"I know—" Clary swallowed, trying to gather her words coherently. "I know what you've done to Jace. I know that you've been torturing him." She said it as a mere statement of fact rather than an accusation. "I might not have seen it for myself, but I know what you've done to him. _I can feel it._ I know that he's in serious pain right now…p-probably—probably serious enough that he won't be able to even stand in the arena." A tear slipped down Clary's cheek and she quickly swiped at it, knowing that she needed to be firm and stand her ground; knowing that she needed to be brave enough to plough on.

"But I also know that the reason why you're doing all this, why you're torturing him on purpose is because _you're afraid_," she sneered.

"You're _afraid_," she said, placing extra emphasis on the word, "that if Jace were at his full potential, he would easily _kill you_ in the arena without even batting an eye!"

Sebastian rose from the bed and all of a sudden, he was right in front of Clary again. He grabbed her chin with his right hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You want to repeat whatever the fucking hell you just said to me, sweetheart? I'm afraid I wasn't close enough to hear you…I could've been wrong about one or two words you might have used in your sentences," he hissed.

"You heard me loud and clear, Sebastian," Clary replied, keeping her voice and demeanor steady. "If you weren't a coward, if you were a _real man,_ you'd give Jace a fair fight. You'd let him face you at his fullest," she said, knowing that _this_ was the only hope that she and Jace had to make it out of the games together, for any semblance of their marriage to survive whatever the hell it was that Sebastian and Valentine had conspired.

Sebastian chuckled. "That's where you're wrong again, Clarissa. I. Am. Not. A. Coward," he said in a hard voice, repositioning his hand from her chin to around her throat, choking her.

Clary gagged, unwanted desperation beginning to crawl into her voice. "_Then prove it to me. Give Jace a fair fight. Let me…let me look after him until the games. Please, Sebastian. I'm _begging_ you_," she pleaded, a helpless tear rolling down her cheek as she clawed at Sebastian's rough fingers.

Releasing his grip on Clary's throat, the black-haired king took a measured step backwards, watching unremorsefully as she gasped for air and gingerly rubbed her hand against her bruised neck. He folded his arms across his chest lazily, continuing to eye Clary with cold scrutiny as he considered her request.

"What's in it for me, Clarissa?" he finally asked after a long while, a curious, calculative eyebrow raised at her in question. He would make her crawl at his feet and grovel at him; there was no way in hell he was going to give in to her that easily—not without a _price._

Clary's mind spun with a river of incoherent thoughts. What's in it for Sebastian? What or how much would she be willing to sacrifice for Jace, for the chance of him defeating Sebastian in an even match?

"_I'll—_" She choked out, her jaw shaking a little. Clary rubbed her hands over her face, allowing her palms to shield her crumbling visage as she spoke.

"If—if you somehow manage to k-kill J-Jace in a fair match, I'll—" She swallowed against the thick lump that was threatening to lurch out from her throat, her hands dropping to her sides to fist the material of her gown. "—I'll willingly g-give m-myself to you. I'll n-never fight you, ever again, for as long as I live. _I p-promise_. _Please._ Please just give Jace a proper chance. Please just let me take care of him…" By then, Clary was crying heavily, unable to help herself. The despair was getting too much, too overpowering for her to shadow it with her anger; she just wanted to make sure that Jace was okay.

Sebastian strode up to Clary and stroked her cheek, the pad of his thumbs wiping away her tears. Though his touch was gentle, it made Clary want to recoil from him. His touch felt wrong. It made her feel dirty_. _Impure. _Tainted._

"All right," Sebastian said, and immediately, Clary felt the clenching in her chest loosen significantly; she felt herself glow with _hope_.

"But…" he dragged out the word condescendingly, "only on the premises that you accept _my_ terms…then, and _only then_, will I grant you your request," he added deviously.

Instant dread filled Clary again, and she spontaneously returned Sebastian's dark, all-knowing gaze with a furious shake of her head. "P-please…please don't m-make me s-sleep with you. I can't—"

Sebastian let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, Clarissa! How eager you must be to make such a suggestion!" he exclaimed, obviously relishing in her discomfort. "No, no. As a man of _self-respect_, as you've so eloquently put it, I will not ask such a thing from you. I have enough confidence that I'll have plenty of opportunities to do that with you later after I kill your husband anyway, so let's just hold that thought for after we get married, shall we?" he said in a mockingly cheery tone.

Clary quickly nodded, only slightly relieved but still apprehensive about Sebastian's motives. She felt a burn of anger at Sebastian's nonchalant mention of him killing Jace in the arena but she let him go—for now. "What do you want, Sebastian?" she asked him quietly, trying to recompose her features into a placid expression.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her ear. "A kiss," he whispered, all malice and venom loaded into his response.

"A k-kiss?" Clary's voice trembled, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.

"And not just any kiss," Sebastian continued with a large smirk. "I want you to kiss me like you would kiss _your husband_. I want you to enjoy it. I want—no, I _need_ to be able to feel the amount of love and passion radiating from you when we kiss. If not, there is no deal… Deal?" He stuck his hand out to her as an offering, and though looking slightly green, Clary took it in hers.

The gesture—the mere contact with Sebastian's skin—sent shivers of disgust running through Clary's body. She promptly pulled her hand away from his after their brief handshake, inconspicuously wiping it against the back of her dress.

If she couldn't even bear to just shake his hand, then how was she even going to be able to kiss him? And not just a simple peck of the lips, but a passionate kiss—one she only reserved for Jace. How would she even bring herself to do it?

As Clary looked away, her breath shuddering, Sebastian yanked her towards him by the hips, gripping her possessively. Clary let out a surprised gasp and tried to pull herself away, but Sebastian held onto her firm. He leaned down, his mouth hovering just inches away from hers, a sly smirk on his darkly handsome face.

"_Pucker up, sweetheart_," he whispered maliciously, and without giving Clary time to prepare herself, he claimed her lips with his in a rough and hungry kiss.

* * *

The moment Sebastian's lips touched hers, Clary felt the urge to shove him as far away from her as she possibly could, to throw up in his mouth even.

It was completely repulsive and revolting the way he kissed her, the way he was barbarously thrusting his tongue into her mouth, trying to deep-throat her; the way his fingers were digging into her hips, bruising her.

Jace would have never kissed her like this. Even when lost in the deep frenzy of passion and lust, Jace would never be rough with her; he would always be considerate of her feelings; he would never push her like _this._

More tears streamed down Clary's cheeks, the guilt that she was 'cheating' on her husband was tearing away at her soul. But despite all that, she pushed on with a fierce single-mindedness—_and for Jace's sake_—she kissed Sebastian back.

Swallowing her bile, Clary moved her lips against his feverishly, their tongues tangling, battling for dominance. She bit down on Sebastian's bottom lip roughly and moved her hands up to fist his hair, growling as if she wanted to devour him.

It disgusted her to do this, especially knowing how much Sebastian was clearly enjoying from all this. He groaned loudly into her mouth, pulling Clary tighter against his body where she felt _him_—his unmistakable arousal—pressed up against her stomach. And that was all it took for Clary to finally push Sebastian away from her, ending the horrendous, deplorable kiss.

She wiped her mouth, her tongue even, against the sleeve of her dress, tears of shame and disgrace pouring down her cheeks as she backed up against the wall. Sebastian stood, breathing heavily as he watched her, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Now, Clarissa… That wasn't so hard now, was it?" he chirped. "I must say…for a tiny girl like you, I would have never expected you to be such a feisty little—"

"Jace…" Clary rasped out, cutting Sebastian off mid-sentence. She was sick and tired of his games, of him beating around the bush. She had given him what he'd wanted, therefore it was only fair if he returned her the favor by sparing her of his opinions on her, right?

Sebastian rolled his eyes, mildly irked by her interruption. "Yes, yes, _fine._ Jace," he grumbled furiously, his face darkening again. "I'll send for a doctor to nurse your husband back to his full health and then you can spend whatever time he has left with him," he growled bitterly.

"T-thank y-you," Clary hiccupped, wiping away her tears.

She took a step forward, ready to follow Sebastian to wherever it was that Jace was being held when the latter abruptly raised his hand to stop her.

"Ah, ah, ah…I didn't say I was done yet, did I, Clarissa?" Sebastian enquired, the scheming look back on his face.

Clary's emerald green eyes widened in disbelief and she resisted the urge to punch the black-haired king then and there. What else could he possibly want from her now?

She huffed loudly, holding her hand against her forehead. "What do you want, Sebastian? Wasn't it good enough that I gave you a kiss?" she asked, weariness, anger and desperation laced in her voice. "Wasn't it enough that I already promised to give myself to you if Jace—"

"Honestly, Clarissa, it really sickens me to hear that fucking scum's name. So unless you want me to deliver on my end of this deal, you'll do well to shut up about him," Sebastian threatened, grabbing Clary's wrist and wrenching her hand away from her forehead.

Clary's jaw trembled as she hesitantly raised her eyes to look at him.

Grinning, Sebastian leaned down and planted a quick, unwanted peck on her lips, one Clary refused to respond to. Her face twisted into a look of aversion and she squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth slightly parted with tremulous, shallow breaths.

"I need a _collateral_ from you," Sebastian whispered against her lips, his black eyes half-closed.

Clary's heart hammered wildly in her chest and she sharply turned her head away from him, using her flame-red hair to shield her face.

Sebastian stepped closer to her, brushing her hair off of her shoulder before resting his chin there. "What I _need_ from you is…" He trailed off, whispering the rest of his sentence into Clary's ear with a cruel grin.

A sharp gasp left Clary's mouth as she registered Sebastian's sinister words. She stumbled backwards, using the vanity as a support to hold herself up as her body was racked with violent sobs. _"Please, don't_—_"_

"You brought this upon yourself, Clarissa," Sebastian replied unsympathetically. "Either you do this or we can compromise by going forward with your original 'suggestion' that you sleep with me," he said in a serious and business-like tone, his gaze unfaltering.

Clary glanced at the marble fireplace that was only a couple feet away from her. There was now an iron grille covering its entrance, so that it was impossible for her to escape through the secret passageways anymore. A steady flame was blazing in its firebox, flickering and crackling dangerously as if mocking her predicament.

Clary drew out a long, heavy breath, a lone tear trickling down her face.

Knowing there was no way out of this, no other way to negotiate with Sebastian over Jace, she reluctantly, yet bravely, turned her head towards him, her green eyes, though teary and bloodshot, returned his gaze with a steely look.

"I'll…I'll do it."

* * *

**A/N:**

DO WHAT, CLARY? DO WHAT?!

God, I love dramatics. And I just left you guys with yet another cliffhanger... Raise your hands if you want to kill me.

Ah, okay, so as always, important questions I want to ask you guys...your thoughts, of course...

What do you think about:

1) Valentine's conversation with Jace in the beginning scene, followed by Sebastian's interruption? (I basically bullshitted my way through the dialogue. I bullshit quite a lot when I'm writing, to be honest)

2) Sebastian's conversation with Jace in the cells? (That bastard deserved a lot more than being hit in the face by Jace)

3) Clary actually standing up for herself and for Jace? (Whoa, that girl spit in V-daddy's face and screamed at him. And Sebastian...she basically just stood up for her man in front of the bastard!)

Lastly, what do you think _is_ the deal she made with Sebastian? (She's not sleeping with him or anything, so what can it possibly be?)

I'll leave you guys on that note, but just a heads-up, I might be late in posting up the next chapter because of a very important assignment that's due really soon, but I'll do my best to get it up as soon as I can. Until then, please do me a favor and review!:)

XO!

~N


	21. Chapter 20: For Better or for Worse

**Author's Note:**

Helloooo beautiful people!:)

My thanks to all you guys who reviewed the last chapter, and hehe, to **DamphiricAngel2014** and **lovedance02**, nice try for guessing, but no, Clary didn't give Sebastard a blowjob! I think my face turned red with amusement when I read your reviews; all of you guys are amazing, seriously.

And **Love Bullet 801**, I did check out the song and MV you suggested, and now the chorus is stuck in my head! I think the song fits for the past two chapters. Any of you guys who are interested, you can check out this song called 'Don't be gone too long' by Chris Brown and Ariana Grande; it's kinda _similar_ to Clary and Jace in this story. Hehe.

Now, on to the story. Clace moments ahead...

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 20: For Better or for Worse**

Clary stroked Jace's sweaty blonde curls back, a worried expression on her face as she stared down into her husband's unconscious face.

It had been nearly 24 hours since she'd been led down into the cells and reunited with Jace, but so far, he hadn't shown her any signs of him waking up yet. Though Clary hadn't been in a great shape after her 'exchange' with Sebastian, she had never felt more relieved and happy when she'd finally been able to hold her husband in her arms again, even if he had been, and still was, in a comatose state.

Clary sniffled, blinking back her tears before bending down to kiss Jace's cheek and burying her face there. "I love you, Jace. Please, just wake up…I need you. I need you so much." Her soft voice pleaded into his ear as she wrapped her arms tightly around his unconscious frame. He looked so lifeless, that if it weren't for the slight rise and fall movements of his chest as he breathed, Clary would've believed that he was dead.

A warm hand came down onto Clary's shoulder and she looked up into the owner's fond, cat-like eyes. "He'll be okay, Clary," Magnus reassured her, his velvety voice calming her a little. "From what I can tell, Jace is responding well to the treatment. He _will _wake up soon," the young doctor said sincerely as he eyed the tube that had been carefully inserted into Jace's mouth and down his esophagus—the tube that he'd specifically designed to feed Jace with hydration fluids and nutrients in his unconscious state to help him replenish his weakened and dehydrated system.

"You, on the other hand, need to rest. It's not good to put off sleep just because you're worried about Jace," Magnus chided her as he scrutinized her disheveled appearance disapprovingly.

Clary had only gotten in a measly two hours of 'rest' from when she'd passed out earlier from Sebastian's 'treatment', and even then, it didn't seem to have done much help to her condition. She looked at least ten times worse than when she'd first come in, and that was saying something.

"But—"

"Clary," Magnus said sternly. "Go. To. Sleep. I'll be here the whole time to watch over Jace, so you can stop worrying about him. There's nothing that you can do by staying up anyway, so you might as well catch up on your sleep. For heaven's sake, Clary, you look like the living undead. I can guarantee you that if Jace wakes up and sees you like this, he'll probably lapse into a shock-induced coma." He kept his tone serious, hoping that it'll stir Clary into listening to his advice.

_'Please just stop being so stubborn, Clary,' _he silently begged her, remembering how long it had taken him to convince her into eating when she'd first scrambled into Jace's cell midway through Magnus tending to the gladiator.

Knowing Clary, the reason why she had been so adamant about starving herself then was because she hadn't wanted to give Sebastian the satisfaction of having some sort of control over her. But as gallant as that might have sounded, Magnus reproved of Clary's actions—she'd clearly made those foolish decisions in the spur of pride, and that could have very well cost her her own life. And now, _even now_, Magnus found it completely irksome how she was depriving herself of sleep. He understood greatly the deep love and worry she had for her husband, but honest to God, was she really trying to work herself to death?

Shooting daggers at her, Magnus watched as Clary scrunched her nose in irritation, her mouth opening and closing a couple times as if to protest. After a while, her resolve finally crumbled and a look of defeat washed over her.

"If Jace wakes up, you'll wake me up too, won't you?" she enquired in a raspy voice, her green eyes still anxiously trained on her husband, as if she was afraid that he'd disappear the moment her attention left him.

"Of course I will, darling," Magnus said in a firm but gentle tone, his yellowish-green eyes softening as he realized how hard it must be for Clary to cave in to his wishes. But really, at this point, there was nothing more that either of them could do other than to give Jace time to recuperate on his own, Magnus thought solemnly.

Clary nodded, a little unsurely, before she lay down on her side next to Jace, huddling her body closely against his. Not caring that Magnus was there watching her, she wrapped an arm around her husband's waist, snuggling her face deeply into his shoulder before closing her eyes and finally letting sleep claim her.

* * *

Somewhere between the realms of sleep and reality, Clary was slowly roused out of her dreams to the feeling of a warm, calloused hand gently caressing her cheek. She smiled, leaning her face further into the hand's comforting touch. Allowing her green eyes to slowly flutter open, she was met with the familiar, loving gaze of her husband—Jace.

They were both lying on their sides facing each other, Jace's hand still on Clary's cheek, his thumb smoothly tracing her delicate cheekbone.

He looked brighter, _healthier_, the sickly pallor gone from his face, and his previously greasy hair had returned to its normal, lustrous form. He was also fully-dressed in a new set of clothes now—his usual gladiator attire—looking fresh, almost as if he'd even taken a shower, Clary thought, frowning a little at the absurdity of it.

_Was she dreaming?_

Seeing his wife scrutinizing him with a look of disbelief on her face, Jace flashed her his golden smile, and instantly, she smiled back at him, albeit a little hesitantly, as if she was genuinely happy to see him but at the same time, she wasn't sure if he was anything more than a figment of her imagination.

Jace was about to open his mouth to speak when Clary raised a shaky hand and slapped his cheek, stinging him a little. His golden eyes widened and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her gesture when she proceeded to disbelievingly cup both his cheeks in between her palms and pinched them—a little too hard for Jace's liking—as if she was still trying hard to ascertain whether or not he was _real_.

"Ouch, Clary! What next, are you going to start stripping me down—"

"Oh, Jace! _You_'re _really_ awake," she interrupted him, clear relief in her voice as rubbed his cheeks apologetically. She laughed a little, tiny creases forming in between her eyebrows. "How—"

Clary's words died down in her throat as Jace cut her off this time, leaning forward to press his lips to hers, kissing her long and hard, their mouths only slightly parted. They expressed all they'd wanted to say through the single kiss—their love, their worry, and above all, their unmistakable relief and joy to be in each other's arms again.

They broke apart moments later, breathless, their foreheads pressed against each other and their eyes closed in contentment. Jace slipped his arm around Clary's waist, running his hand up her back before tangling it in her hair.

Clary nuzzled their noses together before kissing the corner of his mouth, her eyes still closed. "How long have you been awake?" she asked him dazedly, her arms now draped around his neck while her head lay tucked underneath his chin.

Jace kissed the top of her head, smiling to himself. "About four hours ago," he replied in his lazy, drawling tone.

Clary's green eyes flew open in surprise and she drew her head back from underneath Jace's chin so fast that she'd almost clobbered him in the jaw.

"Four hours ago?" She echoed in disbelief, her green eyes flying to Magnus, only just remembering that he was still in the cells with them.

He was seated a couple feet away from the couple, his back pressed up against the wall. He grinned at her and Clary narrowed her eyes at him accusingly.

"Magnus! You promised me you'd wake me up when Jace wakes up," she scolded him.

"Clary, dear, I was doing you a favor. You needed the sleep. Just ask Jace—The extra four hours has made a huge difference on your appearance," he said, yawning momentarily before adding nonchalantly, "Trust me, biscuit, you look a whole lot better now than you did 15 hours ago."

Clary's mouth fell agape, and for a while, both Jace and Magnus thought she looked like a fish. _'An adorable and sexy fish,'_ Jace added to himself.

"15 hours? I've been asleep for 15 hours?" Clary stuttered aloud.

Jace clamped his hand over his wife's mouth. "Hush, sweetheart. There's no need to take this out on Magnus. He's only looking out for you, just like he's been looking out for me," he pacified her before slowly removing his hand.

Clary pouted, sending Magnus an apologetic look. She felt a wave of guilt surge through her as she finally took in Magnus's appearance. While Jace looked considerably better, Magnus looked exhausted and 'shabby'—in other words, he looked 'less glittery than usual'. And what made her feel even guiltier was, Magnus didn't seem to actually mind, as if he had other bigger things to worry about than to fuss over himself.

"I'm sorry, Magnus. I didn't mean to sound so ungrateful. I meant to say 'thank you'. For everything that you've done for us, for being here with us," she said in a small voice, hoping to make up for her lack of sensitivity earlier.

Magnus waved away her apology, winking at her to reassure her that all was good. "Don't fret over it, biscuit. I promised your mother anyway that I would always look after you and Jonathan. And now, that includes Jace too," he told her sincerely.

Clary nodded, about to reiterate her thanks to Magnus when sudden realization dawned on her and a frantic look passed over her face. "Jon!" she gasped aloud, finally registering her brother's palpable absence. "Magnus, have you seen or heard from Jon? The last time Jace and I saw him was the evening before we were found out. Jon was supposed to be out in the market in a meeting before doing his usual rounds with the poor families in Idris. Did Valentine—"

"I'm afraid that nobody knows where Jonathan is, Clary," Magnus interrupted her panicked rant with a solemn expression. "I'm not entirely sure if Valentine or Sebastian has anything to do with Jonathan's sudden disappearance but the fact of the matter is, no one's seen him in days."

Jace sat up with Clary and he pulled her onto his lap, a protective arm around her body as he silently contemplated over what might have happened to his brother-in-law.

In the midst of all this chaos, how could they have possibly forgotten about Jonathan? Her brother who, not only had been wielding the burden of Jace's real identity, but had also been an instrumental figure in the couple's marriage? If Valentine knew how much Jon had helped both Jace and Clary—that he had been in league with them—he wouldn't hesitate to kill him. He wouldn't give a damn that Jonathan was his own flesh and blood; Valentine _only_ cared about power.

"What if—what if Valentine had him killed and had his body dumped in the Forbidden Forest?" Clary asked in a strangled voice, her eyes glazing over with unshed tears as she voiced Jace's worrisome thoughts aloud.

"Oh, sweetheart," Jace finally said, rubbing her back coaxingly. He pulled her head to his chest as she choked back a sob. "I'm sure that Jon's just fine," he said in a gentle voice. "He…he probably heard about us being captured by Valentine, and is with the Consul right now planning over what they can do to help us, knowing that the odds are stacked against us," he told her, trying to reason with his wife—and admittedly, with himself—rationally.

Clary looked up at Jace, a little more hopeful now. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Jon's a smart idiot. He'll be fine," Jace said lightly.

Clary nodded, smiling a little at Jace before hugging him tightly, needing his reassurance more than anything. She couldn't afford to lose her brother, too. He was the only family she had left—the only family member that was _sane_ anyway.

Magnus cleared his throat. "I hate to break up this moment here, but the two of you should eat now," he said, a worried undertone in his voice. "Unless you both fancy me sticking tubes down your throat to feed you. And—_Clary_," Magnus stressed on her name, pointing a slim finger at her sternly, "before you even start trying to protest, there's plenty food for the both of you." He gestured towards the rather large tin canister that was placed next to him, the food that he'd personally requested from the kitchen for the couple.

He pushed it towards them, along with a giant flask of water, before tossing Jace a wooden spoon. "You can take turns feeding each other. Remember to drink lots of water," Magnus added monotonously, his cat-like eyes slowly drooping as he folded his arms behind his head.

_'Poor Magnus,'_ Clary thought as the doctor's eyes fell shut and he began to snore softly. _'He probably hasn't slept at all because he's been so preoccupied with watching over us.'_

"Open," Jace said, nudging Clary's attention back to him. He had already removed the lid of the canister and was now holding the wooden spoon filled with some kind of soup to her mouth.

Clary obligingly opened her mouth and Jace fed her the soup before proceeding to feed himself as well. '_Chicken soup,'_ Clary realized as soon as the soup entered her mouth, licking her lips tastefully.

They ate their meal gratefully, Jace alternating spoonfuls of soup between himself and Clary, making small talk and joking with her lightly the whole time. Once the canister had finally run dry, he unscrewed the cap of the flask before taking in generous gulps of the water, mindful to leave a sufficient amount for his wife.

Just as she leaned her head against his shoulder, Jace brought the mouth of the flask up to her lips, gently ordering her to drink. Again, Clary complied, drinking enough and then leaving the remaining amount of water for later.

While Jace cleaned up, Clary turned her attention to Magnus, who was slumped awkwardly against the wall, fast asleep.

She frowned, thinking how uncomfortable it must be for the doctor to fall asleep in this dingy, rotten cell with them. Magnus had sacrificed more than enough time and energy for them; he deserved his rest, to return to the comforts of his own home instead of being confined, albeit voluntarily, _here_. Besides, Clary only had a little less than a day left with Jace, and as grateful as she was to Magnus for all that he'd done for them, she knew she needed to spend this time with her husband alone.

Following Clary's line of sight, Jace gently nudged her arm, turning her attention back to him. He smiled, pecking Clary briefly on the lips to silently convey to her that he echoed her sentiments, and she nodded at him in return.

"Magnus," Clary whisper-called, tucking a slender curl behind her ear. She removed herself from Jace's lap, walking silently to Magnus. "Magnus, wake up." She shook his shoulder gently.

Magnus let out a small noise of irritation, and swatted Clary's hand away. "Not now, Alec. I'm trying to sleep. Go cuddle with Chairman Meow," he groaned in his sleep.

Jace smiled a little to himself as he heard his _parabatai's _name coming out of Magnus's mouth. He rubbed his nose, chuckling softly at the image of Alec cuddling with Magnus before leaning backwards on his forearms, watching as Clary attempted to wake the doctor.

"Magnus, it's Clary. Wake up," she whispered directly into his ear and Magnus immediately bolted upright, wide awake.

His yellowish-green eyes danced around for a moment before they adjusted on Clary and he sighed, in relief but also in partial disappointment.

"Oh, biscuit. It's just you," Magnus said, running a hand through his hair, a listless expression on his face. "For a moment there, I was hoping that you were a certain attractive blue-eyed boy who I'm desperately head-over-heels in love with," he said absentmindedly, causing Clary to blush furiously in return. "What do you need?" he asked, looking at Clary with concern.

"Nothing, actually," she replied, biting her lower lip. "I wanted to ask if you'd like to go home and catch up on your sleep. I'm better-rested now, and Jace seems to be okay. I'm sure we'll be able to manage ourselves. Just go home and get some sleep," she said, patting his shoulder.

"But—"

"Look who's being stubborn now. Oh, how the tables have turned," Clary said in an amused tone. "Go home and sleep, Magnus. Replenish yourself with your glitter; God knows how terrible you look without it," she joked.

Magnus narrowed his eyes at the princess. "Bossy," he retorted. "I'll have you know that I look fabulous—with or without glitter." He twisted his torso to the side, cracking his back noisily. Clary winced at the sound it made but smiled as Magnus's eyes returned to her.

Magnus leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones against Clary's ear so that Jace couldn't hear him. "Clary, you need to tell Jace about what happened between you and Sebastian," he said and Clary immediately jerked back, shaking her head at him. She wasn't expecting him to bring up the issue at all.

Magnus gripped Clary's hand in his subtly, halting her. "Listen to me, darling. Jace was suspicious and unsettled to say the least when he found the two of us with him. He knows that Sebastian is allowing us here for a reason; he's convinced that _you _must have made some sort of deal with him for him to give Jace an even match for the games," Magnus said, his eyes flickering over to Jace, who was beginning to look at the two of them suspiciously.

"I can't tell him, Magnus," Clary said, her voice cracking a little as she remembered what Sebastian had done to her—her 'collateral payment', as he had called it. She'd never intended for anyone to know about what had happened at all, but Magnus had found out the moment Clary arrived at the cells. It was obvious from the amount of pain that she had been in, and Clary had made Magnus promise to not speak a word of it to Jace.

"He'll hate me. He'll never look at me the same way again," she sobbed quietly, knowing that she couldn't risk Jace overhearing her.

"Clary, he's your husband. He deserves to know what you've done—or more accurately, what _Sebastian_ has done to _you_. Secrets never last, Clary. You and Jace know that better than anyone. Jace will be even more angry at you if he finds out that you've been deliberately keeping your deal with Sebastian a secret from him," Magnus reasoned gently with her.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, trying to comfort her as inconspicuously as possible. "And as hard as you may find this to believe, he'll never hate you for _that_, Clary. Trust me," he said but Clary found herself doubting Magnus's words. Jace would truly find her disgusting if he knew.

"Clary, what's going on?" Jace finally spoke up from behind them, his voice laced with suspicion over their not-so-discreet secret conversation.

Clary quickly dried her tears and turned to face Jace, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "Nothing, honey. Magnus was just telling me to make sure that you drink enough water when he leaves…you know, so you won't get a r-relapse," she said shakily, trying to make up a believable excuse.

Jace obviously saw through it though. "Oh, yeah? And why couldn't have Magnus just told me that directly?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Because…" Magnus drawled out, saving Clary from having to answer Jace. "Knowing the two of you, you're both just as equally as stubborn as the other. I'm sure that if I were to tell you that instead of Clary, you'd purposely neglect whatever it is I had to say to you," Magnus replied casually, covering for Clary. "But now that you do know, don't you dare argue with your wife if she tries to make you drink a gallon of water."

He frowned, tapping his own chin as he reconsidered his words. "No, actually, I retract my earlier statement. DON'T listen to her if she does try to force you to drink a gallon of water. Drinking too much water at one go can kill you," he said seriously, leaving it at that.

Jace arched an eyebrow at Magnus but the latter just shrugged. Planting a soft kiss on Clary's forehead, Magnus then gathered his belongings and got onto his feet, heading towards the cell door.

He retrieved the set of keys that had been given to him from his belt and inserted the right key into the keyhole, twisting it to unlock the door.

"Take care of yourselves. I'll come back tomorrow—bright and early—to check on you two," Magnus said.

Stealing a final glance at Clary to remind her of their discussion, Magnus then nodded at the couple before finally taking his leave.

* * *

"Are you going to tell me what all of that was about?" Jace asked Clary, who had her eyes trained on her lap.

Clary raised her chin, trying her best to look at Jace with a neutral expression. "I told you—Magnus was just telling me about what I had to do to take care of you in his absence," she said slowly, trying to control herself from stammering and tripping over her own words.

Jace nodded, but from the way that his golden eyes were furiously searching Clary's face for the truth, she could tell that he didn't buy her explanation.

He silently got up, wincing a little as he did from the sore muscles and healing bruises on his back, before walking over to Clary. He seated himself in the same position on the floor that had been occupied by Magnus earlier before threading his fingers through Clary's and sighing softly.

"I love you, Clary, and I would never push you to do anything you don't want to. You know that," Jace started, pulling Clary closer towards him. She buried her face into his shoulder, not wanting to look at him, not sure if she could hold herself back from spilling the truth if she did. She felt so, so guilty, but she couldn't tell Jace.

"But, sweetheart, I need to know. I need to know what's going on—why Sebastian even changed his mind about giving me a fair fight in the arena in the first place," he said, desperation coloring his voice. "He was perfectly happy with the idea of slowly killing me in here before actually slaughtering me in the arena, Clary. I need to know what caused his sudden change in heart. I need to know what _you_ did to convince him of otherwise, because I know that there is no other way that he would have let any of this happen if you hadn't made some sort of deal with him. Tell me, Clary, please," he pleaded with her.

Clary shook her head, not removing her face from his shoulder. "Why can't you just accept it as him having a change of heart without me having played some sort of role in it?" she asked in a choked voice, instantly confirming Jace's suspicions that some sort of a deal must have happened between the two.

"Because I know him, Clary. And more importantly than that, I know _you_," he said knowingly. "Please just tell me. I won't get mad at you… I promise."

Clary drew her face away and gave Jace a pointed look. "Jace, you know you're just saying that. How can you even make me a promise when you don't even know if you'll be able to keep it?" she asked him and Jace flinched at the reality behind her words.

_Promise. _He'd made her a promise the night he'd proposed to her that he would protect her with his life—a promise that he'd undoubtedly failed the moment they were found out by Sebastian. Clary was right. What good were his promises' worth now?

"Just tell me, Clare," he choked out, his suspicion over what Sebastian might have done to Clary during the time they had been apart was undoubtedly killing him. Even if he could do nothing to reverse what had happened, he still needed to know.

"Did he—_did he_ _rape you_?" He forced the dreadful, stinging words out of his mouth, looking at Clary pleadingly for an honest answer.

"No, Jace," she hissed, apparent disgust showing on her face at the suggestion. "Why would you even think that?" she questioned him defensively.

"Well, what the bloody hell was I supposed to think, Clary?" He raised his voice angrily, no longer trying to play it cool for her sake. "How can you possibly expect me to be so _stupid_, to just be happy with accepting this falsehood of Sebastian suddenly realizing how much of an asshole he was being and was just trying to make up for it by sending you and Magnus down here to look after me? And not just that, he actually changed his mind about giving me an opportunity of a fair match during the games! Really, Clary, how could I not question any of _this_?" he asked her exasperatedly.

"_He. Didn't. Rape. Me._" Clary enunciated her words clearly, the same defensive stance packed into her small frame. "And neither did I willingly sleep with him in exchange for your fair match during the games, Jace."

Jace nodded but held her gaze steadily, urging her to go on, telling her that it still wasn't enough of an explanation for him.

Clary huffed and passed a hand over her face in defeat. "But I did kiss him though," she finally admitted, hesitantly looking into his golden eyes. They were vacant, unreadable, a closed-off look that Jace hadn't given her in a long time.

"He…he made me kiss him like I would kiss you because I egged him on. I told him that he was a lesser man than you were, _a coward_, because he didn't even dare to face you properly. That was the deal I made—a kiss," Clary said, only half-telling him the truth.

"That's all?" Jace asked in an emotionless voice. He cupped her face in between his large palms, his thumbs smoothing out her furrowed eyebrows as he looked at her expectantly.

Clary forced herself to meet his eyes, nodding once. "That's all," she said in a quiet, even voice.

Jace stared at his wife for a long time, having a hard time believing that Sebastian had made their deal that easy, that…_tame_. Not that he wished something _else_ had happened to Clary, but that was beside the point. He knew that Clary by far wasn't lying, but at the same time, he just couldn't dismiss the fact that she wasn't telling him the whole truth either. He could see it in her eyes—the same emerald green eyes that he loved were explicitly telling him, screaming at him that she was hiding something from him. And yet, at the same time, they were pleading with him, begging him to just let it go.

_'Let it go. Please, just leave it be. Leave it be and hold me. Love me. Show me you love me,'_ she seemed to say through her eyes.

"Okay," Jace finally relented in a croaked voice, unable to help himself from caving in to Clary's silent pleas. He ran a hand through his hair, a torn, defeated look on his face.

"Okay," he repeated, barely sounding sure of himself before his arms were suddenly pulling her towards him and his lips were hard and desperate against hers.

Clary let out a loud gasp but didn't protest, her lips moving against his with just as much desperation. As their kisses grew deeper and faster, Jace's hand subconsciously crawled to her back, undoing the strings on her dress.

At the back of his mind, Jace knew it was probably inappropriate of him to be doing this with Clary here, especially with everything that was still unclear to him, but if he was going to respect her wishes, he needed a way to forget. And maybe, _just maybe_, the tiny, possessive part of him just needed him to take her, just to reassure himself and to wipe away Sebastian's touch from her body, if the demon had somehow—without Clary's knowledge—_touched_ her.

Wrapping her arms tighter around Jace's neck, Clary felt a surge of relief go through her, over Jace finally letting the matter go. She would do anything with him at this point, just to distract him from that horrid 'thing' that she still hadn't told him about yet. Just as long as he didn't—

Jace suddenly froze, detaching his lips from Clary's. Confused, she was about to ask him what was wrong when she realized where his hand was placed—directly on the spot between her shoulder blades—

Where Sebastian's _permanent mark_ now lay.

Clary's green eyes grew wide with shock and she sat, unbelievably still, as Jace repositioned her long red tresses over her shoulder, giving him a full, proper view of her back. She stiffened further as she heard him suck in a sharp breath, as his fingers shakily traced over the reddish scar—_the burnt flesh_—on her pale back.

The scar that had been painfully incised onto her skin, marring her for all of eternity.

The scar that was in the exact same shape of Sebastian's initials—the letter 'V' that stood for Verlac—that marked her as _his _property_._

Clary closed her eyes, feeling a wash of pain and shame flood through her as she recalled the moment it had happened—how Sebastian had pushed her facedown onto the floor and crawled on top of her, keeping her firmly still in place as he drew the searing, red-hot poker out the flames and pressed the hot metallic end with his 'mark' onto the center of her back, right in between her shoulder blades.

She remembered how she had screamed and cried out hysterically in pain at the contact, how she had inadvertently yelled out Jace's name. She remembered how displeased Sebastian had been with her for doing that, how he had explicitly cursed her again before forcibly increasing the pressure of the red-hot poker on her back, deepening the burn of the excruciating mark on her skin.

She remembered the moment after he'd withdrawn the red-hot poker from her back, how he had traced his freshly imprinted mark on her skin while laughing sadistically at her pain.

_"This is for you, Clarissa," Sebastian said, a cruel, unsympathetic grin on his face. "So that no matter what happens, you'll always remember that you belong to me. You're _mine_, Clarissa, and even if by some sheer luck that your scoundrel of a husband manages to kill me in the arena, you will always bear a permanent reminder of me…you will always have me etched onto your skin. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, you will never be rid of me." _

_To make his point, he darted out his tongue and licked the shell of her ear before nibbling roughly on her earlobe_—_though, instead of bringing her pleasure, the gesture only made the nauseating coil in her stomach grow. _

_Clary tried to squirm away from Sebastian but he held onto her with an iron grip, her efforts from struggling only causing her added pain. Smirking callously, he ran his fingers over the bare skin of her back, completely uncaring of her discomfort. "Just imagine his disgust with you when he finds out, Clarissa," he continued gleefully, as if the entire situation was nothing short of amusing. "He will throw you out like you were nothing more than trash. As much as he claims to love you, he'll never look at you the same way again. Not while you bear my mark…"_

Clary jumped, finally snapping back into the present as Jace retracted his hand from her back and looked down onto his own hands, a pained expression on his face. She flinched as a cold draft swept over her bare skin, replacing Jace's warm touch.

"He _branded_ you?" Jace stated in an agonized voice, his golden eyes refusing to meet Clary's. She placed her hand on his shoulder, as if to comfort him, to reassure him that it wasn't his fault, but Jace still refused to even glance at her.

It was so typical of Clary, he thought with pouring self-hatred. Of course she wouldn't think that it was his fault when it so clearly was! It was his duty as a husband to protect her, to make sure that no such harm befell her, and yet, he couldn't even do a simple task as that.

His guilt and self-hatred overpowering him, Jace covered his face with his hands, pressing them hard against his features as hot tears unwittingly began to pour down his face; crying for his failure to uphold his promise to protect his wife—his failure that had undoubtedly led her into all this _shit._

God, he could only imagine how painful it had been for her to go through all that, how torturous it must have felt to have that scoundrel's mark burned onto her skin! If only he had waited to ask her to marry him after the games—after he had killed Valentine and Sebastian.

If they hadn't married, none of this would have happened to Clary. She wouldn't have been caught with him; she wouldn't have had to fight for him, to fall victim to such a cruel deal with Sebastian. She would have been _safe._

"Jace—"

"You shouldn't have married me, Clary," Jace cut her off in a low voice, shaking his head to himself as he turned his full body away from her.

Clary's hand fell from his shoulder as she stared at him in disbelief.

_"What?"_ she asked, her voice cracked with hurt. She felt as though Jace was stabbing her repeatedly in the chest with that single statement. He regretted her; he regretted marrying her, she thought in despair.

And what hurt her the most was that Sebastian was right—Jace had regretted her immediately after he saw _his _mark. He wouldn't even look at her anymore because he was disgusted with her. Because she'd betrayed him, betrayed him by bearing another man's mark on her skin.

"You shouldn't have married me," Jace said again, still refusing to meet Clary's eyes. He didn't want to see the hurt in them—the hurt he knew he'd caused. He ran his hand over his face before raking his curls roughly in self-hatred.

Clary inhaled sharply, and then to Jace's surprise, she yanked him by the front of his shirt and forced him to face her, her emerald green eyes blazing with ire.

To hell with how disgusting she looked with Sebastian's mark on her back! How could _he_, the only man she'd ever loved, betray her by proving Sebastian right?

"_How dare you? _How dare you say that?" She raised her voice at him in both pain and anger.

Reluctantly, he lifted his head and met her eyes, wincing as he saw the pain in them, the tears she was shedding because of him. _Because of him._

"I have never regretted you—never regretted marrying you! And now you're telling me otherwise? Just because you've seen how revolting I look with Sebastian's mark permanently burnt onto my back?" Clary said, shaking her head at Jace as she fisted his shirt in her hand tightly.

"How could _you_? After everything we've been through together? You told me—you _promised_ me we were going to get through this! You said that if you were to go down, you wanted to do it as my husband, who fought for me, _who fought for us_! And now that I've done the same for you, you're saying that I shouldn't have married you? _I shouldn't have married you? _God, Jace! I can't even believe you anymore!" She released her grip on his shirt, pushing him away from her as though he'd burned her.

_"Did it take all this_…_for Sebastian to brand me_ _for you to realize that you didn't really love me after all?"_ she asked in a barely audible whisper before she pushed her hands to her face and began to hiccup loudly with sobs. She lied down on the dirty cell floor, facing away from him, her body shaking as she continued crying into her hands.

Jace felt his heart break even more at that and he immediately regretted ever opening his mouth, for making Clary misunderstand his statement. "Sweetheart… I didn't mean it that way. Of course I love you," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress. He reached his hand out to lace their fingers together but she ripped her hand out his grip and swatted it away angrily, her sobs growing louder. "Clary—" Jace paused, thinking carefully over what he was going to say to her.

"Honey, I didn't mean it like that. I don't regret you, _ever._ I don't regret falling in love with you. I don't regret marrying you. And especially not over some stupid mark that was forced onto you. I just…" He groaned in self-frustration before slamming his head backwards against the wall, selfishly hoping that the physical pain would eliminate the emotional agony he was feeling right now.

"You shouldn't have married me because—if you hadn't, you wouldn't be in this mess with me. I wouldn't have dragged you down here with me—into this danger. You wouldn't have to make this deal for me. You would have been safe…" He trailed off again, slapping his hand over his face.

Clary finally turned towards him, still hiccupping softly. "You really think that I would be safe?" she asked him in a hoarse voice and he looked at her tear-stained face hesitantly. "If we hadn't married each other, do you really think I would be safe from all this? From my father? _From Sebastian?_"

"I was selfish. I only thought about what I want," Jace replied, completely disregarding Clary's questions. "You were right, Clary. The night I asked you to marry me, I did it because I wanted you to belong to me, _only me_ and not Sebastian. And by thinking that, I treated you like you were a possession—_my _possession. I wanted you all to myself. I didn't think about the consequences of our actions, of us marrying each other. I didn't think that I would be condemning you to _this_—that you would be punished because of me. _I didn't think_," he said, his jaw shaking with anger directed to himself.

Clary shook her head, laughing mirthlessly. "You really think that way? That you marrying me was an act of selfishness? That you treated me like I was your possession? Well, in that case, Jace, then I was selfish too because I wanted you just as much as you wanted me!" she yelled, her chest heaving angrily.

"I wanted to be yours, Jace—I wanted to belong to no one else but you! You think that you condemned me to this _punishment,_ but I _knew_ what I was getting myself into the whole time," she said.

She took in several deep breaths, her voice softening. "I made a conscious decision—plain and simple. I _knew_ it wasn't going to be easy for either of us. But I still agreed to marry you anyway because I had faith in us. I had faith in _you_. I never doubted you—or of your promises and of your ability to protect me. And goddamn it, Jace, you've never broken your promise to me to do just that!"

Jace opened his mouth to protest but she sternly held her hand up to cut him off. "Humor me again, Jace. What do you think would have happened if you weren't married to me? If you weren't in our bedroom that night?" she asked him with narrowed eyes.

"We wouldn't have been caught. You wouldn't be stuck with dealing with _my _mess—"

"Right, again with the same old_ bullshit_ about how I wouldn't be caught in your mess," she snapped. "But guess what, Jace? If that were the case, if you weren't there with me that night, then you wouldn't have been able to protect me from Sebastian when he came into my room to find me! And then what? I would have been raped, Jace! _Raped_—" Her voice cracked again, and that finally made Jace realize what Clary was getting at—that he had made a huge mistake in thinking that their marriage had condemned her, when in fact, she wouldn't have been entirely safe without him either.

"I don't care that I'm in this mess. This—_this_ is worth it, Jace. This was worth everything because I got to spend the last two months with you. You made me realize it yourself—that I would rather be married you for as short amount of time as possible than to have be forced into a marriage with Sebastian for life. The fact of the matter is, Jace, if it weren't for you, I would've never found the courage or the will to stand my ground against Valentine or Sebastian. _You_ were the one who made me into a stronger person—and that's exactly why I don't regret you," she said, her voice softening at the end as she leaned her body against his and cradled his face in between her hands.

Jace looked at his wife, tears shining in his own eyes. He blinked and a single tear fell down his cheek. "When I married you, I took a vow—'for better or for worse'," Clary said, brushing the tear away from Jace's face. "Just because we're in this mess now, it doesn't mean that I'm going to turn my back on you and abandon you. Even now, Jace, _I don't regret you_," she repeated to him firmly and Jace instantly pulled her into his lap and crushed her to him, his own body shaking with silent sobs.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her, his voice hoarse with regret. "I'm so sorry, honey. I never meant to hurt you like that. I love you. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I don't regret you. I don't regret you."

Clary pulled back a little then crashed her lips with Jace's. He kissed her back, their kisses hard yet gentle, soft yet rough. They didn't care that their lips tasted of salty tears, didn't care that they were both shaking. They opened their mouths against each other's, caressing each other's tongues, tasting each other like they always did.

Somewhere along the way, Jace realized that the kiss felt different—it was driven by passion and yet not of raw desire. Pain—_anguish_—flowed through the kiss, and they kissed it away, healing the other through every touch.

_'Together,'_ Jace thought. They would make it through this together.

Clary tugged his face closer, molding their lips, their faces, every part of their body into one as she pulled Jace down on top of her, her back lying against the cold, dirty floor. She could hardly care that it was cold or dirty—she only wanted Jace; and more importantly, she wanted him to want her, and to show her that he wanted her.

Slowly, her hands inched their way downwards to grip the hem of Jace's shirt; she fisted it in her hands before they both pulled it off of him, exposing his bare chest, his scarred back, to her. She ran her hands over his body, touching him, worshipping his every dip and curve, extolling his scars.

Jace's hands grasped the hem of Clary's own dress before he, too, relieved her body of it, baring her to him. His hands roamed her entire body, as did his lips—healing her of the pain, loving her in every way he knew how to.

Clary inched her hands downwards, and she swiftly ridded Jace of his pants, leaving nothing but bare skin between them.

As Jace continued to kiss her body, Clary began to slowly stroke him, running her delicate hand over his hard length, brushing her thumb over his sensitive tip. Jace shuddered violently against her in pleasure, moaning softly against her skin. She grabbed his blonde curls, directing his head back up to her, her eyes silently pleading for him to take her—to take her before all they had would be stolen from them.

Jace saw the desire in Clary's eyes, and beneath them, her fear, and her urgency for him to claim her—they were almost out of time, and they needed this one time, _just this one time, _to hold on to, to cherish and to remember, before they lost everything.

Jace stroked Clary's cheek tenderly and kissed her—kissing her deeply as he slowly pushed his way into her, and sheathed himself as deeply as he could inside of her. They moaned, as they always did when they became one; and after a few long moments of just lying still inside of her, Jace began to move, his thrusts slow and gentle.

Their kisses quickly grew more heated, and when their lips parted momentarily, their breaths heavy and uneven, Clary looped her arms tightly around Jace's shoulders, bringing her lips up to his ear. _"Jace, please…just a little harder,"_ she begged him breathlessly as more sweat began to roll off their bodies.

Soon enough, Jace picked up his pace, plunging himself faster and harder into her. He dragged his lips over her skin, kissing and nipping her neck, her collarbone, her chest, her stomach, leaving behind a trail of _his_ marks on her body—_gifting her a tangible reminder of him._

His hands travelled downwards, gripping her inner thighs before he gently pushed them down against the floor, spreading herself further and wider for him as he increased the pressure of his thrusts, and pushed himself deeper and deeper into her.

Clary circled her hips each time they connected, the act bringing an all-new level of pleasure for them. As Jace moved over her, she planted hot, firm kisses on his chest, and on his neck, and on every other inch of his skin that she could reach—marking him as he had marked her.

These were the marks that truly mattered to the both of them—marks that spoke of love and acceptance, not possession; marks that liberated them, instead of enslaving them to a higher power.

As the familiar coiling in her stomach grew in intensity, Clary threaded her fingers through Jace's beautiful, blonde curls, pulling him flush against her. And then finally, as she felt herself hurtle over the edge, falling and tumbling into a deep abyss of pleasure, she reached her lips up to Jace's, kissing and moaning his name into his mouth. At the exact same time, stars exploded within Jace's vision, and he stilled, coming hard and fast inside of her.

Jace collapsed against Clary's body, the two of them struggling for breath. After a long while, when he finally moved to pull himself out of her, Clary quickly wrapped her legs around him, locking her ankles and digging her heel against the small of his back, refusing to let him leave her.

They both moaned at the depth of their contact, as Jace found himself being inadvertently pushed deeper inside of Clary. The feeling of closeness with each other had never felt more real, more pronounced than the act of them becoming one.

"Just stay with me, Jace. Don't let me go…not yet," Clary whispered into Jace's ear, her hands smoothly stroking his hair as their bodies remained connected. "I just want to feel you," she said, and Jace let out a shuddering breath in agreement.

"I love you, Clary," Jace whispered as he relaxed his muscles and allowed his body to melt into his wife's, his head dipping to rest next to hers, his chin tucked into her crook of her shoulder.

"As I love you, Jace. I'm yours, always," she whispered back as her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing slowly evened out.

"Always," Jace repeated as his own eyelids began to slowly droop.

And before long, the couple drifted off into a deep, well-rested sleep, feeling nevermore peaceful as they remained in closeness, united as one.

* * *

**A/N:**

Ahh, the perfect calm before the storm...This was one of my favorite chapters to write. I love exploring the frailties and strengths in Clary and Jace's characters and their relationship, simply because I didn't think it was realistic for their love to be a perfect bubble...they had their first biggest argument as a married couple, only to realize that they are both worth it for each other, so I'm happy for them:) Ugh, I'm such a sap. But anyways, bet you guys didn't expect there to be a sexy love scene there, did you? *smirks*

I don't need to ask you guys if you hate Sebastard, because it's pretty obvious that he's an extremely loathsome character...he branded Clary. That's infinitely worse than a blowjob because Clary will always have to bear a permanent reminder of him. The bloody asshole.

THREE CHAPTERS LEFT, INCLUDING THE EPILOGUE. SEBASTIAN, JACE IS COMING FOR YOU!

Ah, I haven't done this in a while, but would you guys like a snippet upon reviewing? It's just a short preview of the morning after this chapter, when Magnus comes back to check on Clary and Jace...and they're doing some naughty-naughty stuff...hehe.

Alrighty, I'll leave you guys for the week, but can I please just request that in your reviews, please don't beg me to not kill any characters, because I honestly cannot promise you guys that everyone good here is safe. Shh, don't even tell me who you think is going to die. Just don't. We'll just live in the suspense. I'm a terrible, mean person, am I? Yes, I know, I'm the most horrible, evilest bitch-.-

Toodles! XOXOXO

~N


	22. Chapter 21: The Devil's Playground

**Author's Note:**

Hello, guys! Sorry for the late update; I've been so unbelievably busy with work...even now. But I didn't want to delay this update any longer, so here it is!

I just want to take this time to thank you all for the wonderful reviews last chapter, and do a **shoutout** for the first time! Thank you to my reviewers Marley, ploiuiu, Nachtschatten, Guest(s), Random Brit, Fishpuppy, Ally the Elephant, Raven, SmokesGurl20, Steroline Lovely, younge0508, Sprinkles11, cierafox, AlphaX14, Jcdbunny, Annieace01, TwilightMortal, lindsayhonaker, messyroo, DamphiricAngel2014, varomitriva, Jling, shannie83, Sosebo, Aubrey Kelly &amp; Athena Lesage!:) Also, not forgetting my loyal PM-er, Super S.J! Thank you for being so enthusiastic and supportive in this story, and for always reminding me to update ASAP;)

To my guest reviewer **Nachtschatten**, thank you first and foremost for your support, and above all, for being considerate in seeking permission from me before actually translating my story. I can't express how much your integrity means to me, and how much I really do appreciate that. Trust me when I say that I've thought this through for a long time, HOWEVER, due to several personal reasons, I'm afraid that I have to turn down the idea of letting you translate my story...Believe me, it's not because I'm selfish and don't want other readers of the German TMI fanfic community to read Redemption, but rather, because my writing has always been very personal to me; this story is a product of my own hard work, effort and time, therefore, I do want to have full and complete ownership over the story that I created. I hope you'll understand and respect that. I apologize though if I sound offensive in any way, and thank you once again.

OK, so I hope you guys will enjoy this chapter! I feel so numb after proof-reading it so many times, I don't know how to feel about it. I just hope it doesn't suck...

**Disclaimer:** Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Chapter 21: The Devil's Playground**

Jace allowed his fingers to lightly glide over the creamy skin of Clary's back as he slowly did up the strings on her dress. She was standing in front of him, her auburn curls swept to the side and her arms wrapped tightly around her slightly hunched over frame.

He watched his fingers as they progressed, higher and higher each time, as they looped the strings through each tiny hole, forming an exquisite crisscross pattern on the back of her dress. He stopped short as soon as his golden eyes met the mark that Sebastian had unjustly left on Clary's back, feeling his anger rise at the mere sight of it.

His fingers fleetingly abandoned the strings as he gingerly touched the scar, his lone touch bearing a burning promise—to himself and to Clary—that he would return Sebastian the favor of what he had done to his wife by slaughtering him in the arena later today.

Indeed, it was morning already, and they were only a few hours away from the games. Despite everything that had happened between the married couple last night, they were both still tense with apprehension of what was to come.

Jace was feeling better all around, but nevertheless, the time he'd spent with Clary hadn't taken away his edginess towards the whole situation. He didn't know what surprises Sebastian and Valentine had in store for him for his match later on. The only thing he was certain about was that Sebastian would be his opponent.

Feeling Clary beginning to tremble uncomfortably beneath his hand's lingering touch, Jace bent down and pressed a soft, feather-light kiss onto the scar—silently reassuring her that her body was still beautiful, that he still loved her no matter what—before his deft fingers returned to their original task of lacing up the strings on her dress.

As soon as he was finished, Jace turned Clary around to face him by her shoulders, and she automatically repositioned her arms, wrapping them around his waist instead. He cupped her cheek with his right hand, leaning down to kiss his wife slowly, softly, telling her how much he loved her through the gentle kiss.

When they broke apart, Jace wordlessly moved to sit down, reaching for his boots and yanking them onto his feet. He was about to tie his thick black bootlaces when Clary knelt down in front of him with a slight wince, her delicate hand stilling his movements before they took over his task, her fingers meticulously moving to do up the laces on his boots for him instead.

Jace sat back and watched her, admiring the features of her beautiful face, her eyebrows as they knitted together in unmitigated concentration, as if she was afraid that she would fail him by not tying his bootlaces properly.

He smiled to himself, appreciating the tiny quirks about his wife that made him fall in love with her. At times like these, he saw glimpses of his own mother in her—a strong, passionate woman who loved him unconditionally, who chose to remain by his side despite the painful repercussions it brought her.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Jace murmured to his wife lovingly the moment she was done tying up his bootlaces.

Clary looked up at him with a tearful smile, before reaching for both his hands in hers and planting a long, tender kiss on the back of each hand. It was such a small gesture, yet enough to make Jace's heart twinge with painful realization of how akin their situation was to a wife bidding her husband _farewell_ as he readied himself to leave home for war.

It was going to be war, Jace thought soberly. Both him and Sebastian would be fighting for a cause—Sebastian for his own personal gain and satisfaction, and Jace for his redemption, for Clary.

He gently pried his hands away, the pad of his thumbs catching the stray tears that had escaped her emerald green eyes before pulling her onto his lap and fitting her snugly into his embrace.

"Clary, are you all right?" Jace asked with a frown as he noticed her wince the moment he'd lifted her onto his lap.

Clary smiled, stroking his cheek. "I'm fine," she murmured.

"You were wincing," Jace pointed out with a cocked eyebrow, not liking how Clary was masking her pain from him. "Are you hurt?"

Clary blushed. "No. Just a little sore, is all," she replied softly, not meeting Jace's eyes.

"Sore? Where?" he asked her, his face contorted with confusion and worry.

Clary blushed a deeper shade of red. "Down_ there_," she whispered, her eyes shifting between Jace's gaze to the lower part of her body.

Jace looked down at where she was supposedly gesturing with her eyes, still confused, until it finally dawned on him.

"Shit," he said, smacking his forehead with his palm and shaking his head a little. He peeked a look at Clary through the gap between his fingers. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said, sounding so morose. He had a solemn look on his face as he regarded his wife.

Of course she would be feeling sore, Jace thought ashamedly. He had spent the entire night _inside_ her! The memory brought a flush to his own cheeks and he squeaked out another apology, causing Clary to giggle heartily at him.

"It's not funny, Clary," Jace chided her seriously, making her giggle harder. How could she possibly be making fun of him at a time like this?

"Yes, it is," Clary said while playfully nibbling on his earlobe. "Don't feel sorry, Jace. That was the best sleep I've ever had. I loved sleeping with you inside me," she whispered seductively into his ear before licking the shell of it.

Jace internally groaned before turning his head to kiss her nose. He reached his large hand out and splayed it across her lower abdomen, rubbing it slowly, affectionately, and after a while, Clary's giggles died down as she watched his movements intently.

"You have healer's hands," Clary commented with a glazed dreamy look at Jace, instantly halting his hand's rhythmic motions.

Subconsciously, as he'd been rubbing her abdomen, she'd imagined herself, round and pregnant with Jace's child, him hovering over her like the loving husband and father that he was, and would—_could—_have been.

God, how she wanted that. She'd give anything for them to have that, to live in an alternate universe where everything was perfect and she had a loving father and a living mother; a happy married life with a baby on the way instead of one filled with constant threat and uncertainty, where Jace was a gladiator.

Jace swallowed hard and turned his head towards her, their noses touching, their lips mere inches away from each other. "So I've been told," he said huskily, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he struggled to control his raw desire, his burning itch to take her again. "My wife loves it when I touch her like that."

"Lucky woman, your wife," Clary breathed, her eyes drooping as it flickered down to his lips.

"No," Jace said. "I'm lucky to have her," he returned with every ounce of sincerity.

They both exchanged a small smile at his words before Jace finally closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Clary's, his tongue immediately seeking hers through her slightly parted mouths.

They exchanged long, languorous kisses filled with ardency and love, Jace's hands caressing Clary's hips, Clary's own hands firmly stroking the planes and contours of Jace's washboard stomach as she slipped them underneath his shirt.

He groaned as her hands dipped lower, her fingers skimming over the skin obscured by the top of his trousers. It was beginning to drive Jace insane, and it took him all he had to hold himself back from reacting on his carnal passion.

Despite the feverish situation, Jace's subconscious kept hammering him, reminding him that they were expecting Magnus's arrival soon; they didn't need to inflict trauma on the doctor by letting him walk in on them naked and making love to each other.

Jace could only hope that Magnus would arrive soon. He didn't know how long he was going to be able to resist Clary's advances, especially since her hands were now on the hem of his shirt and was beginning to pull it up to remove it from his body.

Speaking of Magnus, he arrived seconds later, making his presence known by clearing his throat loudly, an exaggerated look of disgust on his face as he watched the couple kiss, their tongues noticeably swirling around in each other's mouths.

"AHEM!" he exclaimed in annoyance as he balanced his hold on the two-tiered silver container of food he'd painstakingly prepared for the couple, or rather, _purchased_ from _Taki's_ on his way to the cells to visit them.

Clary and Jace reluctantly pulled away from each other, Jace pouting sulkily despite his earlier wish for Magnus to arrive soon. _'I didn't mean this soon,' _he childishly thought.

"Food delivery from your friendly doctor Magnus Bane the Magnificent," Magnus said with a flamboyant flourish as a form of greeting.

"Morning, Magnus," Clary greeted him with a sweet smile as she leaped onto her feet, forgetting that was still feeling sore.

She winced again as she felt the ache between her legs, pressing a hand against her lower abdomen and rubbing it the same way Jace had done earlier.

Jace got up behind Clary, resting his hand over hers as he gave her a worried look.

Being the perceptive man that he was, Magnus didn't miss the meaning behind their exchange. "Ew, I leave the two of you here for the night and you have rough sex with each other? Of all places, _here_?" He cast a glance at the floor of the cells with a grimace. "I sure hope that stain on the floor there isn't your semen, Jace," Magnus said, causing Jace to glare at him.

"I'm not even going to discuss this with you, Magnus," he answered in a clipped tone.

Magnus rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just eat this," he said, handing the vessel of food over to Jace. "I got it for you two from _Taki's._ Make it quick—Sebastian told me that he was coming down with his guards to lead you two to Dumont in less than an hour from now."

At Magnus's mention of Sebastian, both Jace and Clary sobered from their fleeting haze of passion. "Did he say anything else?" Jace enquired in between gritted teeth, resentment coursing through him as the image of his opponent flitted through his mind.

Magnus shook his head, gesturing to Jace to hurry up with what he'd ordered him to do.

Deciding that it was pointless to protest, Jace sat down just as Clary had removed the lids on the containers; one of them contained chicken soup, like the one they had yesterday, while the other held two loaves of white-rye sourdough bread—like the ones Clary had bought for him and herself from _Taki's _on their very first meeting.

Jace smiled a little at the memory before a small frown took over his face, his body stiffening over the irony that the bread represented. They'd eaten sourdough bread during their first unofficial meal together, and now, they were eating the same thing again as probably the _last_ meal they would ever have together.

_'What if…what if it was?' _Jace thought worriedly.

As if sensing where her husband's thoughts were flying to, Clary gave his hand a gentle squeeze, the pressure enough to bring him back to reality—to the _present_. Jace smiled at her, whether it was to reassure her or himself he didn't know.

Looking at the sourdough bread now made him feel slightly more nauseous, but he swallowed back his bile and ate the bread anyway, knowing that he needed the energy to be able to hold up a fight, and more importantly, to win his match against Sebastian later on.

"Well, Jace, I can say with utmost certainty that you're ready to face Sebastian," Magnus said after quietly assessing Jace's physical condition.

"I mean, seeing as how you've _managed_ to do the deed with Clary last night, I'm sure you'll hold up just fine," he added as a cheeky side-comment.

"What does that have got to do with anything?" Clary spluttered out, looking extremely red in the face, much like her own fiery mane of hair.

"Oh, nothing," Magnus replied in a high-pitched singsong voice, causing Jace to almost choke on his own saliva in amusement.

Not too long later though, all traces of their joking conversation vanished from the room at the sound of the heavy cell door clanging open.

As the three got up to greet their visitor, Jace pushed Clary to stand behind him, shielding her body with his just as Sebastian made his grand—but very much unwelcome—appearance. He was all suited up in the finest silver armor Jace had ever seen, a sword dangling from a scabbard at his waist.

Two other men—who Jace recognized to be his torturers—stood just outside the entrance of the cell, their faces adorning the same detestable smirk that Sebastian always seemed to carry.

Immediately curling his hands into tight fists, Jace's body tensed to the brink where the veins of his bulging muscles became visible. His stance was poised as he stood on balls of his feet, ready to spring at Sebastian if the bastard dared to make a wrong move on them.

"Bane," he acknowledged Magnus with a nod.

"Herondale," he spat at Jace, his black eyes locking with the gladiator's aureate ones in a hate-filled staredown before they shifted to a spot behind him—to where a delicate face framed by fiery red hair was peering from behind the latter's muscular frame.

"Sweet darling Clarissa," he crooned, poison laced in his sweet tone.

Clary wrapped a hand around Jace's arm. Again, Jace was unsure whether it was for her own benefit or his, but he decided that it worked both ways as he felt himself calming a little from her touch.

"Don't talk to her. Don't even look at her," Jace growled.

Sebastian chuckled darkly. "I take it you've seen my latest mark on her, then," he said smugly. "Tell me, _Herondale_, how does it feel knowing that your wife has been branded by another man—By _me_? Does it repulse you to look at her? I wouldn't blame you; I would, too, had I been in your position, if my wife had so _willingly_ let another man mark her like the dirty little _bitch_ that she is," he spat out the words, aiming them directly at the redheaded princess who flinched and whimpered into Jace's back in response.

Jace snarled lowly in his throat, his eyes never once faltering from Sebastian's as he took Clary's hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze to comfort her. His entire face was red and his body shook violently as he fought to control himself from acting on his temper.

"Fuck off, Verlac," he spat. "That was a pathetic cheap shot and you know it. My wife is the purest woman I know, so why don't you just shut the fuck up and leave her alone? Your hours are numbered, _Verlac_, so I suggest that you pray to God and hope to high heavens that He hears your screaming pleas to remove you from this world when I slowly carve _my _mark onto your face in the arena!" Jace barked, his breaths quick and angry.

The latter in question, however, seemed to be majorly unaffected by the gladiator's threats, letting out a deliberately loud yawn in response.

"Same old, same old… Is that all you've got, Herondale?" he taunted, causing the golden-haired gladiator to growl even louder.

As Jace's body shook harder, as if to dart forward, Clary wrapped her arms tightly around her husband's waist, holding him back from pouncing on Sebastian. The last thing she wanted was for Jace to get into a premature fight—weaponless, outnumbered, and in a cell with the lack of an actual audience, no less.

Sebastian sauntered slowly, coolly, towards the former Idrisian prince, stopping just directly in front of him, their faces level with each other.

"Save your energy while you can, Herondale," Sebastian plainly stated, his own threat evident in his voice. "_You'll. Need. It_," he finished, enunciating each word clearly before turning on his heel and leaving the room, his men entering the cell immediately after to usher the three to the Arena Dumont.

* * *

The scorching, malevolent sun bore down on Dumont, engulfing it in arid heat so thick, the arena felt like a live simulation of hell. Not a single wisp of cloud wafted in the blazing noon sky to soften the harsh, garish rays; not even a gust of wind blew to assuage the blinding, sweltering heat.

Clary sat on her royal seat next to her father on the dais, her entire body taut and rigid as she took in the magnificent sight that was the arena, spilling with people from Idris and countries far and wide just to watch the games.

She watched them as they conversed amongst themselves in raucous tones, their excitement practically boiling over in waves as they impatiently awaited the moment when the gates would be raised—the moment when the gladiators would charge into the battleground and lay down their lives for their entertainment.

How it sickened her.

_Her husband_ was one of those gladiators; he was an innocent who had never deserved such cruel fate, she wanted to scream at all those ignorant people.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Valentine's voice broke through Clary's thoughts. She whipped her head round to face him, just as he turned his own head to look at her, a conniving smirk plastered onto his clean-shaven face. "Year by year, more and more people flock to Idris just to watch the games. _My_ games," he said proudly.

Clary glared at him. "I would hardly call that any achievement," she scoffed. "But of course, you would think so because more people means more money for you, isn't it? That's what all this is about? It's never about the people; it's always about you, what you get to gain from them. You're sick," she spat.

Valentine squeezed her arm in a painful grip, his nails purposely digging into her flesh as his charcoal-like eyes burned her. "You would do well to keep your mouth shut, Clarissa," he said bitingly. "Consider yourself lucky. Had it not been for Sebastian, you would be lying six feet underground by now just like your ungrateful whore of a mother."

Clary struggled against his restraining grasp but Valentine only held on tighter, the bulging veins in the muscles of his neck straining against his effort to control his temper.

"_Stop!_" he demanded in a harsh hiss. "Don't you forget, you little bitch. Your worthless trash of a husband's fate lies in my hands." At that, Clary froze, her eyes widening in horror at the Valentine's threat.

"How tragically pathetic." The white-haired king smirked, obviously satisfied with the power he held over his daughter. He leaned towards her, whispering rancorously in her ear, "You see, Clarissa…that's the problem with love. It makes you _weak_. _Predictable_. Just bear in mind, the next time you decide to fight me; I can easily end that slave's life within seconds and no one would even know."

With a huff, he released her arm and rose from his seat, ignoring the look of distraught on Clary's face as he walked up to the balustrade with a fake grin on his face, the people as oblivious as ever as they welcomed their king.

"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens and friends of Idris, it is with great honor that I welcome you to the bi-annual gladiator games!" Valentine's thunderous voice reverberated throughout the arena, instantly prompting loud cheers and whistles from the people.

Clary watched the fiend contemptuously from the corner of her eye as she rubbed at the bruise forming on her arm, gritting her teeth as she withheld the tears from spilling over her eyes. She would not cry. Not this time.

Valentine raised his hands commandingly, silencing the crowd once again. "Now, my people, as you all probably know, it has been nearly six years since the games have first started in Idris. Indeed, we have come a long way, and now, I can't even begin to express how overjoyed I am to be given yet another glorious opportunity to treat each and every single one of you to this spectacular display of sportsmanship in my arena." Valentine paused, clearing his throat.

"Now, I know how all of you must be wondering over how I would make this games a far greater revel that the previous ones, but all I can say is: I hope that you'll be able to spare your undying faith in me." The white-haired king bowed his head, as if humbled by the crowd as they began to cheer loudly again, excitement showing on their faces.

"But before we commence, I would like to dedicate this year's games to both my daughter and her husband-to-be, King Sebastian of Alicante," he smirked, "the man who has so generously contributed to the games, and _will_, ladies and gentlemen, close this year's games with a match with the all-famous, the youngest gladiator of our generation hailing from Alicante himself, _Shadowhunter_!" At the mention of the young famous gladiator, the people grew impossibly louder, their cheers blanketing the arena in a riotous pandemonium.

Clary dug her nails into the armrests of her seat, her veins showing noticeably against the pale ivory of her skin. The sounds of the people's galvanizing voices and stamping feet blared uncontrollably like sirens in her eardrums that it took an immeasurable amount of strength and effort for her to hold herself back from exploding.

This was real. This was happening. Jace, _her Jace_, was going to fight Sebastian. Only one man would walk out of the arena alive, her restless mind chanted, sending thunderous waves of nausea roiling in her stomach.

_"Be strong, Clary. Be strong for me. I'll see you later. We'll be all right,"_ Jace's parting words to her echoed above the din, and Clary pushed the pessimistic voice out of her head, keeping her emerald green eyes steeled onto the battlefield.

Valentine returned to his seat upon inclining his head towards his warden Emil Pangborn, the final signal to commence the games, and with a flourish of his hand, the starting horn was blown and the heavy iron gates were raised.

* * *

_Crimson__._

_That was the color that painted the sand-covered ground not even a minute into the first match._

Clary fisted the upholstery of her seat as the high-pitched sounds of metal clanged and clashed against one another in an endless cacophony, shields and weapons of every kind drawn haphazardly at the horde of gladiators' and soldiers' disposal. Arrows and spears flew across the air as chariots circled the battlefield in unending chaos, and hungry lions rattled free of their chains in pursuit of their unsuspecting victims, their vicious fangs snapping and tearing apart human flesh.

_23__._

_That was the number of people killed so far._

Clary watched, her stomach tightening, her heart pounding more rapidly with each passing moment, as men after men fell to their deaths—gladiators, and Valentine's soldiers included: the Raveners, the Behemoths, the Drevaks. And she listened, her mind threatening to combust with each passing second as the crowd cheered unfalteringly for the bloody spectacle, as men after men were hacked down, speared through, or mauled savagely by the lions.

_37 now__._

_The highest number of people killed in a gladiator game to date._

A loud crash broke through Clary's reverie and she turned her head just in time to watch a Drevak soldier clambering out of his upturned chariot, his hand reaching frantically for a sword that lay abandoned on the ground by one of his fallen opponents. A black-haired gladiator staggered after him, his bleeding left knee in tow and his own sword raised high above his head to deliver the death blow. The Drevak's fingers barely brushed the hilt when a blade was stuck through his throat, emitting a spray of red that ended him in an instant, leaving the field with no more opponents for the gladiators to fight.

The nine surviving warriors raised their blades in success of their match, and the crowd showered them with a blast of celebratory cheers. And then another horn was blown, signaling an interlude before the long-awaited final match.

_One__._

_Just one more match to go. _

Jace's match with Sebastian.

* * *

Jace had never been one who was sentimental when it came to his matches. In the short two years since his very first games, Jace had been in numerous fights that had come and go in a daze, they'd become a mere passing that he'd unwittingly come to accept as a lifestyle.

He'd always thrown himself headfirst into a battle, taking on risks even if they were unnecessary that Michael often admonished him for being 'reckless'. But he digressed. It was his recklessness, combined with his amazing prowess, quick-thinking and adaptability to any situation, that had earned him his reputation for being the best gladiator of his generation. It was those attributes that had led him _here_, to where it all began for him.

Truth be told, Jace had never cared that much about survival. He'd never cared if it were his last match, even despite his hunger for redemption, even despite his craving for revenge, to have Valentine on the receiving end of his blade. After all, his life was nothing but empty; he had no one to return to should he ever be freed. Death, however sadistic it sounded, had always been an attractive idea to him. His parents were gone, and if he died, he'd be reunited with them.

But, that was all _before_ he met Clary, his wife, the woman who was now the only remaining beacon of light in his life.

Crazy, how love could change a person so much in such a short amount of time. It was Clary and her ability to love him wholeheartedly despite all that he was that had given him his new purpose in his life. She was, without a doubt, his sole reason to fight and to live.

Now, as Jace stood in the battlefield of the arena with his head held high and his heart pounding with fierce determination, he could not find it in him to regret the events that had led to this moment.

Sure, he and Clary had only been together for three months, but in all that time they'd spent together, they'd both seen each other through their best and through their worst. No other couple would ever be as unfortunate as they had been to go through the amount of never-ending hell that they'd been thrown into time and time again, but Jace knew, that even if he were given the choice to do everything all over again, he wouldn't change a single damn thing. Because it was all _that_ that made their love infinite. It was all _that_ that made their love worth it.

Raising his head, Jace looked at Clary through the visor of his bronze Corinthian helmet, his bright golden eyes instantly colliding with her emerald green ones. She was gazing at him steadily, her eyes glossy with a layer of tears that he could tell she was trying so hard to suppress.

He smiled at her, acknowledging her effort to stay strong for him, and naturally, she smiled back, her lips parting shakily as she mouthed the words 'I love you' to him.

He raised his right hand to his lips and he blew a kiss to her, his mouth forming inaudibly back the words 'I love you too'. Clary's smile stretched wider until it lit up her entire face, then Jace turned his attention to his white-haired father-in-law—_h__is enemy_—who glared at him with the force of a thousand suns.

Jace grinned at Valentine, a purposefully mocking child-like grin, before blowing his enemy with a derisive kiss. He heard the crowd bursting into loud guffaws at his taunting display but made no move to break his eye contact from Valentine's fuming black ones as he delivered his unspoken statement.

Amidst all the boisterous racket, one message rang true and clear: Jace Herondale was unafraid, and if God so pleases it, Valentine was _next_.

A welcoming royal fanfare wafted through the air, and Jace finally turned his attention away from the white-haired king, his gaze meandering towards the direction of the gates that stood directly opposite of the ones he'd emerged from.

As expected, Sebastian strode out confidently onto the battlefield of the arena, his body fully cloaked in armor forged out of the finest metal, and his sword, unquestioningly, made by the finest blacksmith. He wore a helmet similar to Jace's—a Y-shaped Barbute design—though his was clearly customized to fit the lavish standards of a king, with its steel base and a brass-plating, and an even magnificent red crest embellishing it.

Inhaling a deep breath, Jace took an even number of steps towards Sebastian as the latter approached him, their pacing identical to each other's. Their eyes locked—furious gold meeting unexpressive black—and Jace adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, his stance poised and ready for his adversary's attack.

He watched as a lazy grin stretched across Sebastian's face, his stance the total opposite of Jace's—relaxed, arrogant, complacent—as he swung his sword around in idle circles in his wrist, as if he were completely unbothered by the severity of their match.

Jace smiled. Sebastian was completely underestimating him, he realized with a scheming smirk of his own. And he was going to play that weakness to his advantage.

When they were just mere meters away from each other, the two opponents stilled, and Sebastian raised his sword in a theatrically unconcerned gesture as he regarded Jace.

"Fancy afternoon, Herondale?" he asked in a drawling tone as he pretended to observe the detailing on his blade.

Jace remained silent as his acute golden eyes assessed his rival, seeking out his weaknesses and points of vulnerability. In the number of times that he'd fought Sebastian, they'd never once faced each other in a swordfight; neither had they been under the circumstances of a formal battle, he realized belatedly.

For all he knew, this whole lazy, nonchalant _act_ was exactly it was—an 'act' of trickery on Sebastian's part.

Sebastian's eyes drifted away from Jace and the gladiator followed the direction of his gaze until it landed on the one person they were both fighting for—Clary.

"Beautiful, she is…" Sebastian commented, and Jace took the time to notice the extra details about his wife, too, the ones he'd never even paid any heed to when he'd first entered the arena today. Her auburn curls hung in large wavy ringlets that dangled down to her waist—just as Jace had always liked it—and she was wearing an intricately designed gown that fell perfectly over her slim curves, a deep red the color of _blood_.

"Drink it all in, Herondale…this may very well be the last time you'll ever see her." Sebastian's boastful tone caused Jace to peel his gaze away from Clary.

He turned to look at his rival, and silently seethed as he noticed him practically undressing _his _wife with his eyes.

_"Anger blinds. Remember, Jace_—_Never let your emotions get the best of you," _Michael's voice mentally coaxed him, and the golden-eyed gladiator slowly let out a deep breath in an attempt to quell his rage.

"That's enough out of you, Verlac," Jace answered in a clipped tone. "If I was interested in a debate, I wouldn't be standing here in the arena with a sword in my hand. But I'm not. So why don't we put our swords to use and let them do the talking instead?"

Jace shifted his sword and angled the tip towards Sebastian, setting his feet a width apart from each other to maintain his equilibrium.

He noticed automatically Sebastian's lips curling into an amused smirk before he mimicked the gladiator's stance, and as if right on the cue, a horn signaling the start of their match was blown.

_All moved in a blur from then on. _

Without wasting any time circling his opponent, Sebastian leaped forward, the sharp tip of his sword aiming straight for the gladiator's chest.

Effortlessly, Jace sidestepped out of the way, his blade moving in time to block the attack. He pushed against Sebastian's blade, forcing his opponent backwards before swiftly lunging forward to strike his abdomen.

But just as he came close to landing a hit on him, Sebastian leaped out of the way with an excitable laugh, his face donning a blithe and carefree expression, as if they were children playing a game of tag.

Jace growled, far from appreciative of his opponent's flagrantly blasé attitude nor his audacity to belittle him. Resisting the urge to spit in Sebastian's face, he sprung forward again, executing a complex combination of attacks that Michael had consistently drilled into him since his very first training session—attacks that he could have very easily performed in his sleep; attacks that, in any other _ordinary_ circumstance, would have easily gained him the upper hand—but not Sebastian.

To the gladiator's utter exasperation, the black-haired king wasn't slowed in the slightest bit. He met Jace's onslaught with smooth parries of his own, smirking shamelessly as if Jace posed no substantial threat to him; as if deflecting blows were his _second nature_—

How Jace wanted more than anything to slash the bastard's contemptuous smirk off of his face—_permanently_. He would do the world a multitude of justice without that filthy mouth of his in the way, Jace thought angrily as he brandished his sword in the general direction of Sebastian's face, genuinely attempting to actualize his thoughts.

His sword came millimeters away from marring Sebastian's unblemished visage—the unprotected skin left bare by the helmet—but once again, the latter managed to elude the blow, letting out a mirthless chortle as he ducked underneath Jace's blade and threw a kick at the gladiator's side.

Containing his grunt, Jace quickly bounced back from the offense with a mask of insouciance, silently rallying his stamina to serve him as the two enemies continued to go back and forth with each other, both evenly matched in grace and strength.

Despite his fatiguing muscles, in large part—or so he wished to believe—was due to the unforgivingly torrid heat, Jace ignored the panicked voice emitting warning bells at the back of his mind, allowing the practiced gladiator in him to carry out the strenuous work.

Sweat poured down the side of his face in steady streams, the harsh rays of sunlight momentarily obstructing his vision as Sebastian guilefully, and without warning, robbed him of his momentum with a vicious right hook to his jaw.

Taking advantage of Jace's winded state, the fiend, without any hint of hesitance, swung his sword again, this time aiming for the latter's hip. Jaw clenched, the golden-haired gladiator moved, narrowly dodging the repelling hit with a graceful pirouette.

Feeling a sense of urgency to regroup himself, Jace backtracked away from Sebastian, and just like that, they were back at stage one—the two of them circling each other, each sizing the other up.

Jace was even beginning to pant a little—much to his own surprise. Never before had he met an opponent who could quite keep up with his pace; that was why he usually stood out from the rest of the gladiators. His agility was what often gave him the early advantage of the fight, if not, the _leverage_ to wear his opponent down, no matter their size.

"Tired already, Herondale?" Sebastian taunted, his black irises practically engulfing the whites of his eyes.

Jace smirked as he casually spun his sword at his hip. "I'm barely starting, Verlac."

He started forward without warning, and the two of them continued to go back and forth with each other once again, each movement quick, measured and decisive, though none effective enough to inflict any debilitating impact on the other.

Their blades clashed against each other furiously, neither one of them missing a beat. They both moved as if it were a choreographed dance, one both of them had been well-trained for and could, _therefore_, easily keep up with each other.

It was amazingly beautiful, and yet, so utterly and completely unnerving to Jace. This confrontation was entirely new to the both of them, so how was it even humanely possible for either of them to be able to faultlessly gauge each other's next move?

Another earth-shattering clash exploded from the battlefield and both men had the edges of their blades locked against each other, both displaying a power play of strength and endurance. Jace gripped the hilt of his sword in both hands as he pushed and shoved against Sebastian's unyielding weight, neither one willing to cave and allow his adversary to best him.

Mustering as much force as he could, Jace pushed against Sebastian hard, sending the latter tumbling and landing on his back on the ground. Sebastian's sword flew from his grip, landing on the dirt a fair distance away from where he was lying.

Seizing his one long-awaited opportunity, Jace darted forward and straddled Sebastian's stomach, strategically keeping his limbs pinned with his full weight.

The crowd cheered loudly in favor of the gladiator, but in the moment, Jace registered them as nothing more than an indecipherable buzzing noise—a meaningless void, for all he cared.

Because for the first time in two years, this match wasn't for the people.

This match was personal.

This match was between _him_ and _Sebastian_.

Sebastian struggled beneath Jace's hold but instantly stopped when the golden-haired gladiator pressed the sharp edge of his sword against his throat, grazing his Adam's apple a smidge. He glared at Jace, though beneath his withering look, the former prince could see the undercurrent apprehension and nervousness in his adversary's black eyes.

Jace hesitated. Would it be right of him to kill an unarmed man?

"Well? Aren't you going to kill me?" Sebastian hissed through his teeth. He arched his neck, baring his throat for the gladiator, but the latter barely even twitched. "What's the matter, Herondale? Afraid to take away the life of a king? Afraid you'd be known as an exploitive coward like Valentine?"

Jace's glare faltered for a second before it quickly reclaimed its intensity. "Neither," he returned coolly, his golden eyes blazing with unconcealed fury. "I'm just not finished with you _yet_." He brusquely removed himself off of Sebastian and the crowd erupted in loud disapproving jeers.

"Get up! Pick up your sword and fight me! I will not kill man while he lies on the ground defenseless!" Jace shouted, completely ignoring the people's insults.

As if satisfied by the gladiator's change of heart, Sebastian smirked as he stood up and dusted the dirt off of himself, his entire aura radiating a careless sense of flippancy. "If you insist." He gave Jace a mocking bow before turning his back on him and walking leisurely towards his discarded sword.

The moment his hand grabbed hold of the hilt, Jace immediately pounced onto him, his sword raised high in the air to strike his opponent down. Sebastian ducked at the last second, but Jace was quick to improvise; he saw an opening and rammed Sebastian in the face with his fist, the sound of his bones crunching loudly beneath his knuckles as they connected with his jaw.

Swinging his blade in an elegant arc, Jace aimed for Sebastian's neck, but—_as_ _always_—the black-haired king was quick to counter Jace's advance. He spun away with a mastered grace, and much to Jace's unexpectedness, managed to land a deep slash on the gladiator's left thigh.

Jace let out an aggravated yell and swore colorfully underneath his breath as a sharp, stinging pain flared through his open wound. He swiftly swapped his sword to his right hand, using the right side of his body to lead his movements as Sebastian tried to deliver yet another blow to his injured area, sheer relentlessness pouring off of him in tumultuous waves.

It was almost as if the blood that he'd finally managed to spill from Jace had empowered him into an unforgiving beast. A crazed, wicked look gleamed in his black eyes as he hurled offense after offense, forcing the gladiator to continually remain in the defense.

At a last-ditch attempt, Jace used the remaining reserves of his energy to execute a front flip over his opponent, and just as he landed, he kicked out at Sebastian's back, sending him skidding forward and his gaudy helmet to fly off his head.

As Sebastian spun around, Jace dashed forward and slashed three deep neat lines across his exposed face, forming one letter: 'H'—the mark that he'd promised to carve onto the fiend's face.

Sebastian's eyes widened and he backed away from the gladiator, a hand clutching his now-_disfigured_ face. Any former traces of the smugness disappeared from him, his face twisting into an ugly snarl as he traced the bloody mark with his fingers. "What have you done? Do you realize what you've done?!" he yelled furiously.

Jace gave him a dark smile. "I do," he replied, an undercurrent of venom in his voice. "I have done _exactly_ what I've promised I would do to you this morning."

A knowing look passed over his face, and his golden eyes glistened, piercing like a deadly knife. "So that no matter the outcome of this match, '_you'll always bear a permanent reminder of me_,'" Jace quoted, eliciting an enraged yell from Sebastian.

Blinded by his ire, he impetuously charged for Jace's left leg but the golden-haired gladiator quickly rolled into a crouch, the former's blade hitting the sand instead.

Then, before Sebastian had even realized it, Jace was already behind him. He drew his blade backward, and with one quick, vicious thrust, he sank the blade through Sebastian's back, the sharp tip protruding through the front of his armor.

Jace heard the latter give one loud gasp before he slowly turned around, his soulless black eyes wide with shock and his open mouth spilling with dark streams of blood.

Numbly, Jace took a step backward away from Sebastian, ignoring all the sounds of people rejoicing over his kill. He watched as Sebastian's knees buckled and he collapsed, facedown onto the ground, the sword still sticking grotesquely out of his body—_corpse_, his conscience briefly corrected him.

_"There's a place on a man's back where, if you sink a blade in, you can pierce his heart and sever his spine, all at once,"_ Jace's former master's voice echoed over and over again in his head.

Jace stood immobilized, his golden eyes still fixated on his opponent's dead body. For some goddamned reason, regardless of how much he'd dreamt of this moment—of him standing proud and tall over his rival—he wasn't sure about how he felt about his victory.

Relief? Happiness? Shock? He didn't know.

Was it even right to rejoice over the death of another—even if he'd _deserved_ it?

Letting out a shaky breath, Jace averted his eyes to the balcony. He saw Clary on her feet, leaning over the balustrade and a large smile mixed with happy tears on her face, and just like that, he felt his heart revive with an electrifying jolt, his inner conflict and confusion dissipating, like sunshine breaking through a mist.

_Happy_, he decided, returning his wife's smile with his own.

But before Jace could even properly immerse himself in his victory, Valentine suddenly reappeared on the dais next to Clary, an infuriated scowl donning his face.

He shoved his daughter back and began yelling like a madman, "Archers! Archers! I WANT MY BLOODY ARCHERS!"

Jace's eyes widened and he snapped his attention back to the battlefield, just as Valentine's firing squad appeared, their arrows set in their bows, ready to shoot him down. He dropped his sword to the ground and raised his hands up in surrender, prompting the people's chants to turn to outrage.

A few of the bolder enthusiasts—_the anarchists_—were even beginning to pelt the dais with an assortment of rotten fruits and vegetables—tomatoes, cabbages, anything really.

Valentine raised his arms, trying in vain to shield himself from the onslaught. His otherwise usually unruffled façade was noticeably slipping as he attempted to regain his order and the undivided support of his people.

Jace smirked, seeing this as his chance—the one chance he needed to make his final stand, to rally the people against their king.

"Valentine Morgenstern!" Jace yelled in a voice that commanded respect and attention, and instantly, silence fell upon the arena as all eyes fixed on the gladiator.

"I, _JACE HERONDALE_," he enunciated his name clearly, eliciting gasps and murmurs from the crowd, "the former prince of Idris, hereby challenge _you_ to a fight for my freedom and for the right over the throne of Idris!"

Jace removed the helmet from his head and threw it onto the ground, letting the people see him as the person he'd claimed himself to be.

Immediately, the arena erupted into another wave of frenzied commotion as the people gossiped over the former prince—about how he was not only alive, but here—actually _here_—a gladiator challenging the current king.

Valentine let out a sharp, mirthless laugh, directing everyone's attention back to him. "I owe you no such thing, slave! You are nothing but a poser! A pretender! Prince Jace is _dead_!" he shouted. "And _you_, for the simple fact that you have not only dared to kill the king of Alicante, but have also _dared_ to challenge my rule, you have lost the right to fight for your freedom out of this arena! You came to Idris as a gladiator, so you shall die in Idris as one!" Valentine furiously decreed.

The white-haired king raised his right hand, when all of a sudden, a shimmer of red reappeared on the dais. Jace sucked in a breath as Clary rammed into her father's bigger frame, as if she was trying to knock him out of the way.

"NO! JACE!" Clary screamed but Valentine swiftly flung his daughter backwards, her slight body crumpling with a loud crash as she collided into the chairs.

Jace's heart stuttered and he made a move to run up to the balcony to check on his wife when Valentine's archers closed in around him, giving him no room to escape.

Up on the gallery, Valentine straightened himself, ignoring the people's obvious protests as he stretched his right hand out over the balustrade, his thumb sticking out of his fist in a neutral stance, neither pointing upwards nor downwards.

Jace knew what this meant; he'd witnessed it in many of the gladiator games that he been in before, though it had never been at the expense of his own life. If Valentine were to merit him with a thumbs-up, his life would be spared. But if he was given a thumbs-down, he would be fated to an immediate and effective public execution.

Jace steeled himself, knowing without a shred of doubt in his mind that Valentine's decision would most likely be the latter.

All around him, he could hear the people rallying behind him, screaming and chanting his _name_—no, not 'Shadowhunter', but 'Jace'—_Jace Herondale_. It didn't escape his attention that they were jeering and cursing at Valentine too, assaulting him with words fueled by resentment and hate.

Good, Jace thought. Now, not only did the people believe that Jace was who he said he was, but they also hated Valentine. Whether he lived or died, Valentine would have a riot on his hands—a nation of anarchists.

Jace smirked at the white-haired fiend, his golden eyes undaunted and smoldering with contempt. _"Go ahead," _he mouthed at him, arms raised in a final blatant display of defiance and as a challenge to the king's judgment.

_'Go ahead,' _Jace chanted in his mind, _'Go ahead and kill me. Make me their martyr. Give the people the fuel they need to kill _you_.'_

Sweat trickled down the white-haired king's forehead, and his hand shook, the subtlest of shivers, visible only to him. Valentine would never admit it but he knew that even now, even as the gladiator stood tall and very much alive in his arena, he had lost. After all, this was no ordinary gladiator he was staring down.

This was _Jace Herondale,_ fallen prince of Idris—the man, whose last name was enough to spark a riot. And to kill the gladiator, Valentine would probably _only_ succeed in adding more fuel to the scorching inferno.

Would it all be worth it? Would it be worth risking the people's favor, all for the sake of defending his pride?

_'Fool! Don't you dare slither away like a coward! Show them who is in control,' _the demon in him pushed, and Valentine stood up taller, more sure of himself this time. He would not concede. Never.

Not to a filthy gladiator.

_Not to a Herondale._

Plastering on a cold smirk, Valentine stuck out his hand further, decisively, ready to signal to his execution squad to kill the gladiator, when all of a sudden, there was a brief flash of white, and another hand was thrust next to his, his thumb pointing upwards.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the execution squad held down their arms and retreated, and Valentine turned his head towards the man who had dared to interfere in his decision, taking in the similarly built figure, the features and hair that were the exact same as his own. But there was one thing that set them both apart—

Their eyes.

The man had green eyes as bright as emeralds—the same as his own mother, as his own sister. The man was his own flesh and blood, his son.

Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern.

* * *

**A/N:**

What the hell, another bloody cliffhanger? This is like, what, the fourth or fifth time I've done this?!

Haha, to quote my darling reviewer Athena Lesage, there should be laws against cliffhangers...hmm, yes. I'm sure many would agree with that statement, but believe me when I say, this is the LAST cliffhanger you'll ever get.

So, I really, really suck at writing fight scenes. I had to re-read parts of the TMI books and watch various fight scenes on YouTube (like Achilles vs Hector from the movie Troy, which I love btw!) to get inspiration, but even then, I spent many hours trying to put everything into words. Sigh, the story of my life. And ooh, credits to Cassandra Clare, of course, for whichever TMI quotes you see in there...

Anyways...Many things happened in this chapter, including Jace killing Sebastard! Hurrah! I loved writing the part where Jace carved the Herondale mark onto Sebastian's face. Justice is so sweet...for now, at least.

What did you guys think of this chapter? Where did you guys think Jon was this whole time?

Next one is the last chapter, then comes the epilogue...so technically, there's **two** chapters left? I'm excited to get this story done so I can mark it as 'complete', but at the same time, so, so scared...

You guys did a really, really awesome job with the reviews the last time (like whoa, you guys surpassed the 20 review goal!*THANK YOU!*), so in the spirit of getting this story to reach its state of completion, can we work together to get at least another 20 reviews? THX everyone and stay awesome!:)

XOXO!

~N


	23. Chapter 22: It All Comes Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

Hi guys! Thank you all for your reviews last chapter!:)

Shoutout to Super S.J, ile de beaute, Virginia Herondale-Raffaeli, itsHerondale, Arelia Miles, Random Brit, Aubrey Kelly, Nachtschatten, Jcdbunny, lovedance02, Sosebo, mikaela, I'llLightUpTheSky4You, FluffyFluffLover, DamphiricAngel2014, TwilightMortal, iLoveMeSomeCaptainAmerica, shannie83, ploiuiu, Annieace01, Jling, Phoenix003, AthenaLesage, Bridalmask2000, lindsayhonaker and my other guest reviewers! Amazing ppl, all of you! I'm so sorry, I haven't had the time to reply to your reviews personally. Life has been extremely hectic and I'm so close to chopping my hair off from all the stress...on top of that, I've been feeling kinda depressed as of late, so yeah...but your reviews have definitely been amazing moral boosters, so thank you!:)

To **Mikaela**, thank you for pointing out the mistake I made last chapter. I've made the necessary amendment;) For all of you who don't know which mistake I'm talking about, it's when Jon made his appearance last chapter. He was supposed to give a thumbs-up instead of a thumbs-down to save Jace from the execution squad, so there.

If anyone is wondering about Alec, he's fine. He's alive. As for whether you'll get to see Simon any time soon in the remainder of Redemption, no, you won't. He's not a very important character in this story, sorry. But he's alive, too.

Another note: I made an adjustment in Jon and Clary's age difference. Jon is seven years older than Clary...just thought I'd let you guys know cos initially, I wrote him to be five years older...

Okay, so the last (or technically, second last) chapter is hereeeee... Some really sour shit is going to go down, and no, I don't mean lemons. So I advise that you do not read this if you're in a bad mood...(I can seriously tell you how much I'm panicking about posting this chapter...I'm scared!)

Tissues are recommended for this chapter...as well as scotch tape for those of you with violent tendencies. Why scotch tape? Well, to secure your phones or laptops to your hands or desks, whichever one you use to read fanfics, because I don't want to be responsible for anyone breaking their phones etc. ***Sosebo**, I mean this quite seriously in your case*

Be strong, guys, and read on till the end because good things do happen in the finale.

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters, while I own the ideas and storyline to Redemption.

* * *

**Chapter 22: It All Comes Full Circle**

Cold, rigid tension hung in the air as the Morgenstern king and his son stared each other down, the former's widened charcoal eyes a sharp contrast to his son's spring-green ones—bottomless, black pits that swirled like an unforgiving portal into the deepest, darkest depths of Tartarus, where no free, unpunished soul lingered.

Around them, the people chattered amongst themselves unreservedly, ambivalent rumors spilling from their lips as they watched the confrontation unfolding before them on the dais, the words 'treason', 'savior' and 'execute' a frequent utterance.

Jace unclenched his fists from his sides, the hard muscles in his shoulders relaxing minutely, though his heart still pounded fiercely in his chest. Seeing his brother-in-law there, safe and unharmed, he let out a shuddering breath of relief, when all of a sudden, Valentine yanked Jonathan by the front of his shirt viciously, his face red with an undisputed look of anger and hot betrayal.

"What do you think you're doing? Defending the enemy! Where is your honor? Your loyalty?" he yelled at his son.

Jonathan stood his ground, firm and unfazed. "My loyalties lie to my family. To my sister, and to my _brother_," he replied calmly, but with just as much confidence and authority packed into his tone. Valentine opened his mouth to bite back a retort but Jonathan quickly cut him off, his green eyes narrowed at the man he'd once called 'Father'.

"The man whom you wish to kill is as much as my own brother as Clarissa is my sister. _He_ is my family. Not you."

Valentine laughed bitterly as he curled his fingers tighter into Jonathan's shirt, the harsh pressure enough to rip the material. "Brother? Brother?" he echoed mockingly. "You fool! He is planning to take away _my_ throne! _Your_ throne! And yet you claim him to be your brother? He will destroy you—just as his father had long ago tried to destroy me!"

Jonathan shoved his father away from him, resulting in a violent tear down the front of his own shirt. His green eyes hardened, but not over his mangled clothing; he'd barely even glanced down at it.

"Speak for yourself, Valentine," he retaliated, raising his voice daringly. "If anything, you brought this upon yourself. You were the cause of all this conflict in the first place, so don't try to pin the blame on the Herondales for it." He shook his head, a look of undisguised disapproval and disgust etched onto his face.

"The truth is out," Jonathan said, his voice lowered to a hushed murmur. "You're not getting away this time, _Father_. As long as I'm still here, I'll make sure of it." Jonathan fixed his father with an intense glare before breaking their eye contact to signal to another person to come forward—the man he had been closely working with to bring justice to his father, Patrick Penhallow.

"Valentine Morgenstern, I hereby strip you of your duties as the King of Idris, and sentence you to a public execution for crimes committed against Idris," Patrick announced, his voice reverberating loudly throughout the arena for all to hear.

Ignoring the crowd's thunderous cheers at Patrick's statement, Valentine jabbed a sharp finger at the Consul's chest, trying to assert whatever remnants of authority he had as the king. "Who are you to cast judgment on me? To deny me my birthright? _You_ are a Consul; YOU ARE BENEATH ME!" he roared furiously, his spittle flying all over the Consul's face.

Patrick, not intimidated in the slightest, wrapped a firm hand around the former king's wrist and shoved him away from him with a look of utter repugnance on his face. "Indeed, I am below the will of the King, but when it comes to serving the justice of this land, when it comes situations whereby a king abuses his powers on the throne, I am obliged and authorized to step in," he said, undeniably dogmatic about his principles.

"You have been a cunning and deceptive man indeed, Valentine. All these years, ensuring that the candidates elected into the Clave were rigged, all exploited to serve you to your own personal advantage. And then purposely excluding me from all your secret meetings with your officials so that I would be kept out of the loop from all your despicable plans. Do you think that I would not have noticed how the people have suffered under your rule? The ridiculous rise in taxes! How the nobles have been steadily gaining more while the bourgeoisie and the _peasants_, as you call them, have been slumping deeper and deeper into poverty?"

Valentine only laughed. "And what proof do you have of these claims that you've made? To accuse me of such corruption?" he inquired amusedly.

"Plenty. Especially those from your own personal recounts," Patrick answered, wielding Valentine's diary from the inner pocket of his coat and waving it for all to see.

Instantly, Valentine's jaw fell slack and his face turned a deathly white, easily rivaling the pallidness of his hair.

Holding the diary close to his chest, Patrick looked over his shoulder at Jonathan and then at Jace; the latter of the two who still stood in the arena looking the same as before, but now with a wide grin on his face. Both of them were giving him encouraging nods, urging him to go on. Smiling, Patrick flipped open the book to a random page and began to read from it.

"'December 30, 1699: Stephen Herondale is finally dead, and I can say that I have never felt this easy and content before. I remember the look on that scoundrel's face just before I killed him—how he had looked at me in fear, how his eyes had silently begged for me to spare him for the sake of his wife and his son. He deserved no mercy after all his past transgressions. Immediately after slaughtering Stephen, I'd ordered my men to dismember his body and to dump his remains at various locations within the Forbidden Forest—where he truly belongs. He deserved no funeral, much less a king's funeral; and he deserved to not have his own grave.

_"_'And as for Celine, I am thoroughly satisfied with the time that I had spent ravishing her. It was the best I'd been with any woman, and I had enjoyed hearing her scream each time I had taken her roughly. If only she had chosen me instead of Stephen—maybe then I would have spared her instead of killing her in front of her weakling son, that disgusting spawn of a Herondale. I have made sure that his life will be an endless suffering, and that he may forever live out the rest of his life as a worthless slave.'_" _

Patrick paused momentarily to look at Valentine, who appeared to be in absolute shock and was struggling to formulate a coherent sentence. Taking advantage of the white-haired fiend's speechless state, he smirked and skipped forward to a much more recent entry.

"'April 4, 1702: The first games had only recently passed and I must say, it was an amazing success. My sentiments had been right, and the Idrisians had loved the games and are looking forward to next one. As it is, most of the kingdom's capital had been used up during the construction of the arena and to fund the first games; there is a need to replenish our resources immediately, and the only solution I see to this problem is by collecting more taxes from the people—a small price to pay on their part to contribute to this much bigger cause.'"

The crowd instantly exploded in a riot, their harmless prattle evolving into livid yells and insults, and that was enough to rouse Valentine back into his defenses.

"How—how dare you steal from me? Who are you but one man against me? I have the power of the army of Idris and Alicante behind me, don't you forget," Valentine seethed.

"Do you really? Now that everyone knows your true colors, do you really think that they'll be stupid enough to stand behind you? A corrupt king whose only defense, whose authority is based on nothing more than idle threats and a web of cleverly-spun lies?" Patrick raised a challenging eyebrow at him, not missing a step in their verbal barbs.

"And just to point out your earlier statement, according to the Accords, should a king without an heir falls in battle, then the person responsible for his death would immediately ascend the throne. As it is, Jace is now the _king_ of Alicante. He owns the loyalty of _their_ troops—Not _you_."

Valentine visibly paled again, but this time, he was quick to cover it up with his stubborn tirade. "You are extremely foolish if you think that I will concede to your demands. I have fought long and hard to claim ownership of my birthright and I will not go down without a fight," he hissed.

"Trust me, I have no intentions to let you off so easily either. Prince Jonathan has discussed the terms of your punishment with me, and I fully agree with your son. Despite what you may think, the boy is wise beyond his years, and much like _King Jace_," Patrick paused, winking at the golden-haired gladiator who stood in the arena with a stunned expression on his face, "he is far more deserving and fit for the throne than you can possibly imagine," the Consul declared in earnest.

Valentine cast a seething glance at his son, who stood a ways off of him, his sister held tightly in his arms. "Do tell then, what my _wise_, astute son has decided my punishment to be," he spouted the words directly towards the boy—_his _boy.

Jonathan's gaze cut to Jace's for just the briefest of seconds and they both exchanged a small nod at each other—a mutual, unspoken agreement. Letting go of Clary, the prince took a step forward, and then another, until he was finally nose-to-nose with his father.

"You will face Jace single-handedly in a fight-to-the-death match," Jonathan said in a loud and clear voice. "No exceptions. You owe him the honor of such after everything that you've done to his parents—to him. I believe it is only, hmm, what's that called…" Jonathan wandered off mid-sentence, pretending to tap his chin thoughtfully, "'Poetic justice'?" He quirked an eyebrow at his father, whose only reaction was to clench his fists at his sides.

The corner of Jonathan's lips lifted into a smirk, forming a tiny dimple in his left cheek. "And so, dear Father…May the_ best _man win."

* * *

Jace sighed wearily as he slumped back onto the pathetic excuse of a bench, his hands clutching a cloth that was currently pressed against the deep wound on his left thigh. "You shouldn't be here, Clary," he groaned for possibly the fiftieth time.

His wife glared at him as she moved to sit next to him, her own hands gingerly placed atop his to apply more pressure onto his wound. "Don't tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing, Jace Herondale," she scolded him.

Jace's face scrunched up in pain and he let out a muffled grunt, releasing his hands from the cloth as his wife took over.

"Fucking Sebastard," he muttered grudgingly, his nails biting into the skin of his palms as he clenched his hands into tight fists.

Gently, Clary chucked the cloth aside, revealing the bleeding laceration before looking back at her husband with concern.

"Well…it doesn't look too bad," she offered, trying to sound optimistic for once.

Jace raised an eyebrow at her, one of his golden eyes squeezed shut from the pain. He knew that Clary wasn't exactly lying; the wound was _minor_ as compared to the whipping he'd suffered at the hands of Sebastian before. But even then, it still _stung_.

"It hurts, Clare," Jace gritted out as she rummaged through a briefcase he recognized to be Magnus's.

"I know, honey," Clary said softly as she turned back to face him. She briefly abandoned her initial task, running her hands through the soft strands of Jace's sweaty blonde locks.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her stomach, subconsciously planting a soft kiss on it. Turning his head a little, Jace eyed the opened briefcase again.

"Why do you have Magnus's things with you?" he asked with furrowed brows.

Clary knelt before him on the ground, reaching for a bottle of wine and some bandages to clean up his wounds. "It's his spare. Magnus would have tended to you himself but had to go off to answer an emergency distress call at the Idrisian borders," she answered, looking worried.

Jace drew her chin up so that their eyes met, and he stroked her cheek comfortingly.

"Some of Sebastian's staunch followers broke into Idris the moment they received word that Sebastian was dead. They attacked the guards, vandalized the market square…" Clary explained, sounding a little flustered. "But last I heard before coming down here, things are sort of under control now…they've managed to dispatch enough men to handle the rioters; Magnus is helping the wounded, and a messenger from Idris—one of Patrick's men—has been sent to the court in Alicante to address the situation."

Jace nodded, taking in the information attentively. "What's bothering you then?"

Clary sighed before resting her forehead on his uninjured thigh. "You," she admitted truthfully before looking up at him. "I'm worried for you. Sebastian's dead but this whole mess just keeps on piling up. It's one thing after another—my father, and then there's you being the new king of Alicante. I'm worried about how the people there will take it. I'm worried that they'll hate you for murdering their king and that they'll try to kill you themselves."

Jace swallowed hard at Clary's words, understanding deeply the reasons for her own distress. Every part of him hated their situation, and even more so the fact that he was the cause of his wife's anxiety. _Hadn't they both been put through already enough to earn a break?_ "We'll worry about that later. For now, I have to deal with Valentine first," he said firmly, but in a gentle tone nonetheless.

Clary nodded, kissing the back of Jace's hand that had been unconsciously holding her own out of instinct to soothe her. "Right. We need to clean your wounds first," she said, twisting the cork off of the wine bottle with a composed look on her face.

Jace sucked in a deep breath as Clary tilted the bottle and began to pour the wine onto his bleeding thigh.

* * *

"How dare he? _How dare he?!_" Valentine bellowed venomously as he stormed into the holding area in the arena, his lackey royal advisor Hodge Starkweather trailing behind him timidly. He was a fairly thin man with grey-streaked hair and a pair of matching grey eyes, and could easily pass off as average-looking if not for the thick scar running up the right side of his face.

"If I may propose a suggestion, Your Highness," Hodge began in a docile tone, not wanting to incur the king's wrath.

Valentine whirled around sharply at his advisor, his black eyes ablaze with the same look of untarnished ire. He was breathing so heavily, Hodge swore that he could see steam crawling out of his nostrils, as if he were a wild, provoked bull.

Hodge swallowed slowly. "What i-if—what if you laced your blade with poison?" he stammered.

As soon as the words left Hodge's mouth, Valentine's eyes sparkled with malice and his lips curled upwards into an unnaturally wide grin.

_'Just a single cut with a poisoned blade would guarantee the gladiator's death within minutes,'_ the demon in him whispered.

"Yes," Valentine murmured, his tone contemplative, almost dreamy. He snapped his attention back to his disciple, the sharpness returning to his features as he handed him the _Kindjal_ dagger from his belt.

"Do it. Use the deadliest poison you can find—something that will cause him the most immeasurable amount of pain. The gladiator deserves a good send-off, and I intend to see it through, with as much suffering on his part as possible."

Without another word, Hodge dutifully departed with the Valentine's blade in his hand, leaving the white-haired king to his own diabolical devices.

Valentine folded his arms across his chest as a deep evil laugh rumbled past his lips, his mind already churning with a game plan.

He would draw the Herondale boy out for as long as possible, and when his guard was finally down, he would strike, Valentine decided with a cold smirk.

Carefully concealed from behind one of the pillars, Jonathan curled his hands into fists as he comprehended his father's ingenious scheme. He shut his eyes, his heart racing with the decision that he'd made.

No matter the consequences were for him, he would protect Jace, he swore. He would do it for _him_, and for his sister.

* * *

"Jonathan? What on earth are _you_ doing here?" Jace asked with a deep frown as his brother-in-law suddenly 'materialized' in the spot next to him. He had been so focused on meditating and preparing himself for his fight with Valentine that he hadn't even noticed Jon's entrance.

"What, I can't be here for my brother-in-law's fight?" Jon grinned, but Jace could tell that it was forced.

"Cut the bullshit, Jon. What's going on? Why are you here? Why aren't you with Clary?" Jace fired, his nerves beginning to take ahold of him.

He found it unsettling, to say the least, that Jon would be down here with him instead of up in the gallery with Clary. He'd only sent her away about fifteen minutes ago—against her will, of course—when she'd finished tending to his injuries. She'd put up such a fight, insisting that she ought to be in his corner during his match with her father, that Jace was grateful when Isabelle and Simon came by when they did—to drag his wife away, _literally_.

But seeing his brother-in-law in front of him, Jace was dreading that his efforts of keeping his wife away from danger were for naught. Knowing Clary, if she knew that her brother was allowed down here with him, she'd probably do whatever it takes to be _here_ too.

Jonathan sighed before allowing the same worrisome frown to appear on his own face. "Jace, listen to me. Valentine has a plan. He's going to lace his dagger with poison. Whatever you do, make sure he doesn't land a single cut on you because if he does, it will kill you. Understand?" He had his hands placed on Jace's shoulders, his tone creased with concern he usually _only_ reserved for his sister.

A multitude of emotions swirled across Jace's face before it finally settled on one thing: defeat. He was preparing himself for the worst, Jon realized, and that angered him greatly.

Without warning, Jonathan drew his large hand back and smacked his brother-in-law hard across the cheek, causing Jace's golden eyes to practically bulge out of his head in shock.

If he'd thought that Clary's slaps were painful, Jon's was thrice as bad. What was it with the Morgenstern siblings' obsession with slapping him?

"What the hell was that for?" he demanded as he shot the white-haired prince with a withering look.

Jon met the golden-eyed gladiator's infuriated glare with his own. "I was giving you a wake-up call. You're very welcome, indeed, dearest brother-in-law," he gritted out, in a none too gentle tone.

"Now, you listen here, Jace. We didn't come all this way for nothing. We're almost at the finish line, so don't you dare, for even a single second, give me that look as if you're done for. We are not going to lose this. Valentine isn't going to kill you, so you'd better iron out that attitude of yours and get this through your head: If _you_, by any chance today let your guard down because of a silly little distraction that costs you the tip of my father's dagger, I will make sure I bring you back from the dead and make your life a living hell." He concluded his threat with a strong pat to Jace's back.

Jace swallowed hard as he took in Jon's words, and his heart swelled with amazement by the amount of support he had from his brother-in-law. And what struck him even more was that the support not only came from him, but from others too, like Magnus, Alec, Isabelle and even Patrick Penhallow.

He had more guardian angels watching over him than he'd initially thought, Jace realized, and for that, he'd never felt more grateful. But at the same time, he needed to be realistic. Just because luck had been on his side up until now, it didn't mean that Valentine wouldn't be able to show him up later and kill him. Jon had told him as much—that Valentine already had an evil scheme in mind; in which case, he might not even stand a chance.

Jace opened his mouth, choosing his words carefully. "Jon, I just—I—" He cleared his throat, trying to dispel the thick knot of dread growing in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not giving up. I'm just bracing myself for the worst. I'm human, Jon. Anything can happen," Jace said, trying to get Jon to understand things from his point of view. "And if anything happens to me, just please make sure that you look after Clary for me—"

Jon cut him off. "That's not going to happen, Jace," he said sternly. "I won't allow it. There will be no 'if's. As far as I'm concerned, you will go in that arena and give your best fight ever, and you will come out of it—_ALIVE_," he stressed.

"But—"

"NO! No 'but's either," Jon growled, pointing a stern finger in the gladiator's face as if he were a father scolding a child.

Jace's shoulders slumped in defeat and he sighed resignedly, knowing there was no point in trying to argue with Jon.

After a while, he drew out his blade at his side and began to bounce on the soles of his feet, the silence and tension too much for him to bear. "You still haven't answered my question, though," Jace said, attempting a casual tone as he briefly cut his gaze to look at Jon.

The latter merely shrugged as he turned, aligning his body so that he was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jace. "To be in your corner for your match, of course," he returned with nonchalance, his green eyes looking out intently at the arena through the gates.

Jace's heart stuttered in his chest and this time, it was his turn to give Jon a sharp look. "No, Jonathan. That's not going to happen. You are _not_ coming in there with me. If so help me, if I have to chain both you and Clary together to the gallery, I will do it," he threatened. "As far as I'm concerned, this fight is between me and your father—_alone_. So let me just repeat this: You. Will. Not. Go. In. There." Jace punctuated each word with a hard jab to Jonathan's chest.

Jon rolled his eyes. "Stubborn. I swear, you and Clary are going to have the most stubborn children to ever walk the face of this earth—"

"Jon," Jace pressed, trying to stop him from veering off the topic. "Stay with Clary. _Please._"

Jonathan glared at Jace, his face morphing between a frown and a scowl. After a while, he finally spoke.

_"He killed my mother, Jace." _He looked at his brother-in-law with a hard expression, his tone laced with the faintest hint of hatred and anguish.

Jace felt his throat tighten and he shut his eyes, pinching the space between his eyebrows with a sigh.

God help him if he didn't know_ that_. He understood perfectly how Jon felt. After all, if it was one thing that he and Jon both shared in common, it was the fact that both their mothers had been unjustly killed by Valentine.

It was only natural that Jon felt as if he owed it to his mother to deliver justice to her killer. But even still, Jace didn't want to jeopardize Jon's safety. He'd come to love Jon as his own brother, and as stupid and self-sacrificing as it sounded, he _needed_ Jon to be there for Clary if he happened to fail to kill Valentine.

"I've been dreaming of her, you know. My mother," Jonathan suddenly spoke again, breaking off Jace's train of thought. He let out a choked laugh, his green eyes glazed over with tears.

"_I miss her," _he croaked, tears already beginning to spill from his eyes.

Jace furrowed his eyebrows, watching with a slightly panicked expression as Jonathan ran his hand through his white-blonde hair, his chest shuddering violently as he tried to rein in a sob.

"Every single bloody time I close my eyes, I see her. And Clary…she looks so much like Mom it actually hurts to be around her." The white-haired prince looked up at Jace, a haunted and an almost berserk look in his eyes as he gripped the latter's shoulders.

Stunned by this side of his brother-in-law that he'd never seen before, Jace let him, his tongue frozen uselessly in his mouth.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to live, knowing that your own father murdered your mother, Jace?" he asked, his voice so soft and yet filled with so much torture and agony.

"Each time I look in the mirror, I see him. I see his fucking face and I hate it," Jonathan continued as if he'd never even questioned his brother-in-law.

"And the irony is, I used to love my father _so much_." He shook his head, averting his gaze from Jace's as if embarrassed by his own confession. "I always tried to please him because I wanted more than anything else in the world to prove that I'm worth something. That I'm worth loving. But _he_—he never loved me. He never even gave me the chance, always saying some shit like 'To love is to destroy'—whatever the fucking hell that's supposed to mean. And lately all I've been doing is neglecting my sister like some heartless scoundrel—"

"Jon," Jace finally said, cutting off Jonathan's jumbled rant. "You're not _him_," he said sternly, knowing that underneath Jonathan's clutter of words, the one thing that haunted him, more than anything else did, was his fear that he was turning into his father.

"I couldn't even protect my own brother," Jon whispered brokenly, slumping down against the wall with his knees pulled up to his chest.

Unsure of what to make of Jonathan's statement, Jace awkwardly returned the sword that he'd been holding to its sheath before coming to kneel in front of his brother-in-law. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as more tears streamed down tha latter's face, his green eyes cast in a devastated and faraway look.

"Jon, look at me—_I'm right here_," Jace urged in an almost pleading tone but the prince remained unresponsive, his pupils fixated intensely on the floor.

"B-before Clary was b-born," Jonathan stammered, "I h-had a _younger_ _brother_," he said in a broken whisper, his green eyes foggy as he recalled the faint memories of his past—ones that he'd forcibly buried deep within himself his entire life, memories that he dared not share with Clary, for fear that it would only cause burden to his sister.

Jace's mouth fell agape, but he remained silent, completely stunned and taken aback by the prince's unexpected revelation.

"He probably would have been around your age by now, but he, uh—" Jon broke off, his chest heaving heavily with emotion. "He—" Jon sniffled, "he _died_—due to complications during childbirth…" He stuck a fist against his mouth, biting on his knuckles hard to suppress a sob.

"What—what was his name?" Jace asked, flinching remorsefully immediately after when he realized how awfully insensitive it might have sounded.

Jon looked up slowly, and Jace saw that beneath the tears, there was a hint of anger laced within his features. "He didn't have one," he answered in a rough voice. "Valentine didn't see a need to mourn over a dead child, much less give a name to him. What was the use of it anyway?" Jon asked bitterly, and Jace knew by then that he was using his father's words.

"He'd done nothing in this world, nothing that would give anybody here a reason to remember him for anyway. It was easier to just pretend that he didn't exist, to just put him in the ground and move on," Jon scoffed resentfully.

"Does Clary know?" Jace asked, his voice soft and careful.

At that, Jonathan snapped his eyes shut tightly, as if Jace's question had somehow caused him physical pain. He shook his head. "No…no," he answered, barely able to keep his voice steady. "She doesn't need to know…Clary doesn't need anymore pain in her life—She's only 16, for God's sake."

Jace nodded slowly, biting his lip in deep thought as he processed Jon's words. Finally taking notice of the deep circles that decorated the bottom of his brother-in-law's green eyes, or the sunkenness of his cheeks, or the pallidness of his complexion, Jace wondered how long Jon had been suffering in silence of his past, and even worse, how long he had been putting himself through the self-blame.

Jace himself was no stranger to either; he knew how unbelievably taxing it could be to be burdened by situations that were, rightfully, beyond the reach of his own control. Being a gladiator had taught him as much, that _fate_ had every means and power to be cruel, and no one really had full control over when or how they died. That was a hard fact of life that he'd come to accept—

Though_ 'not_ _completely_,_'_ Jace added to himself as his mother's lifeless golden eyes flashed through his mind, gone as quick as it had come. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing slowly in an attempt to repel the lingering guilt that often came with the memory of his dead parents—his guilt, like Jon's, grounded by the fact that he couldn't have done anything to save them; that he was still alive while they weren't.

After a while, Jace sighed, reaching his hand out to pat the prince's shoulder consolingly, _empathetically._

"Whatever it is, Jon, it wasn't your fault that your brother died," he said, in a tone that could only be described as sincere. "You said so yourself…that he died because of 'complications during childbirth'. Besides, you were only, what, four, five years old then? What could you, or anyone else, for that matter, have possibly done to prevent it?" Jace asked, the question so rhetoric that it needn't an answer.

"Everyone dies, _eventually_, and no matter how much we wish there's something that we can do to prevent it from happening, no matter how much we wish that we can spend a moment longer with that person, we're never really in the position to decide that. But even then, it doesn't make us any lesser. Just because you couldn't do anything to save your brother, it doesn't mean that you're a horrible brother, Jon," Jace said convincingly, the words seeming to pour out of his mouth from out of nowhere.

Jonathan continued to stare into the distance, his emerald green orbs swirling with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Then, as if he was finally broken out of his trance, he snapped his head back to Jace, blinking rapidly in an undisguised attempt to clear his massive tangle of thoughts.

"I…I understand," he said, almost to himself before finally raising his eyes to meet Jace's.

On the surface of the emerald green, Jace could detect a look of comprehension in Jon's eyes, indicating that he'd indeed listened to his speech, but even then, they were still shrouded with doubt—a lingering and stubborn sense of reluctance to let go.

Jace sighed. Jon was too much of his sister for his own good.

"Look, Jace. I—I promise I won't interfere in your match with Valentine unless absolutely necessary," Jon said, quickly reverting to their earlier argument.

"But please—please just let me in your corner so that I can at least look out for you. You don't have to face him alone. Please, Jace—Let me be a brother to you that I couldn't be to mine," he implored him, desperation hinting at his tone as the same tormented look began to resurface in the pools of his green orbs.

Jonathan's words struck hard at Jace's core, and he sighed again, clenching his teeth to bite back an argument. Slowly, and reluctantly, he raised his head to meet Jonathan's pleading gaze before giving his brother-in-law an infinitesimal nod.

"Just—just keep your fat ass out of my way and we're good," Jace said half-heartedly at an attempt to lighten the mood.

At that, any traces of his haunted demeanor disappeared and Jon smirked, his green eyes darkening noticeably as he envisioned Jace's match with his father. "By God, I hope Valentine trips over his own feet and cuts himself with his own poisoned blade," he chuckled. "Wouldn't that be poetic justice at its finest?"

Jace laughed along with him, relieved at the subject change. Even after having dealt with Clary's past emotional episodes, he was still, admittedly, uncomfortable when it came to talking about emotions—and _secrets._ He'd had to deal with too many of the latter already, and if he was being completely honest, the secrets that he'd been forced to learn exhausted him.

"You and me both, brother," Jace said, returning his golden eyes to the arena, just as a grey heron flew past the gate.

He smiled to himself at the sight of the bird that symbolized his family name, believing it be a sign. "You and me both."

* * *

_Silence._

At least, that was what rang through Jace's head as he stepped out into the arena once again, for his last and final match with Valentine.

Not for the first time, the former gladiator looked like an avenging angel, stunningly handsome and yet dangerous-looking at the same time. Sweat glistened off his golden-tanned skin, marking him with an ethereal glow while his golden hair framed his face like a divine halo.

Still dressed in the same bronze armor as he had when he'd faced Sebastian earlier, Jace walked with an air of practiced grace and confidence, his golden eyes ablaze as he sought out his opponent's black ones.

Trailing just two steps behind him was Jon, his green eyes trained on Jace's back, watching over him protectively, but Jace barely even felt his presence there. His golden eyes were focused solely on the demon as he sized him up, taking in his build, eyeing inconspicuously the dagger that lay in its sheath on his belt—the _poisoned_ dagger that he was planning to use to kill him.

Jace ground his teeth together as he stood up straighter, his aureate eyes burning brighter as they met Valentine's scorning charcoal-black ones.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath—_once, twice, three times_—before blowing it out slowly, feeling his senses awaken to the rousing standing ovation that the people gave him, their voices showering him with an unanimous vote of confidence.

But for the first time in a long time, they weren't chanting 'Shadowhunter'. They were chanting 'Herondale'.

It lit up a spark in Jace's chest. Relief and pride surged through him, at finally being able to reclaim his identity, for finally being able to stand in the arena and fight as himself—as _just_ Jace, not 'Shadowhunter', the youngest and best gladiator of his generation. He was a free man, no longer bound to the arena—and he was going to kill the man who'd killed his family.

"So, this is how it's going to be, is it?" Valentine's voice broke through Jace's quiet contemplation.

He blinked his golden eyes once, only now realizing that he'd stopped moving and was standing face-to-face with Valentine, who towered above him by a few inches. He looked to his side, seeing Jon leaning his back against the wall a couple meters away from him, his face a stoic and serious expression, before he returned his gaze towards Valentine.

The demon gave him a devilish smirk. "The world works in such strange ways. One moment you stand as a slave in my arena awaiting my signal for your execution, and then the next, you stand in front of me as the newly crowned king of Alicante and my executioner."

Jace narrowed his eyes at him, knowing fully well that Valentine was only trying to distract him by making pointless small talk. "I've heard enough of your sermons, Valentine. Sebastian talked about as much as you did, and look at him—he's a dead, rotting fool catching flies. We all know why we're here so do me a favor and spare me this mindless chitchat for when you're writhing on the floor with my sword sticking out of you," Jace said, cutting straight to the chase.

Valentine looked down at the ground, chuckling to himself. "If your _Highness_ so pleases it."

Jace barely had any time to leap out of the way as blinding silver suddenly flashed before him, the tip of Valentine's sword—_Phaesphoros_—grazing the front of his armor.

His breath hitched and he reflexively moved his own sword to deflect Valentine's blows as he charged at him again, the ringing and grinding screech of metal against metal reverberating loud and shrill in the arena.

Summoning all of his knowledge and skills acquired from training, Jace met Valentine's aggression with blinding speed and perfectly executed blocks, his body moving in an energetic blur—a shadow, much like his gladiator namesake. But even with his agility, Valentine proved himself to be an even match, showing his own prowess as a swordsman with each calculated swing of his blade.

It was like facing Sebastian all over again; except where Sebastian was wily and agile, Valentine was a domineering powerhouse in his own right. He channeled his brute strength in every blow, forcing Jace into a position of constant defense.

Exhaustion and his earlier injuries beginning to consume him, Jace's movements unwittingly began to slow down. He pushed on, trying to ignore the pain, the fatigue, his aching limbs as Valentine continued his unabated, tenacious assault, but it was getting increasingly harder to.

Distracted by his own self-frustration, Jace inadvertently left himself open, and taking advantage of the gladiator's weakened momentum, Valentine kicked him hard—right in the center of his worn torso.

Jace grunted as he fell, landing harshly on his back. He barely even had time to wince from the pain before Valentine was on him again, trying to utilize Jace's vulnerable position for his own gain.

He hoisted his sword high, his bloodthirsty black eyes glistening wildly, oddly depicting an image of the reaper of death himself, and Jace quickly reached for his own blade to defend himself just as the fiend landed a particularly forceful hit that sent the sword in Jace's hand shaking furiously.

His breath caught and his heart battered against his chest so tumultuously that Jace could hear it echoing in his own eardrums. He forced himself to tighten his grip around the hilt of his sword and quickly rolled away as Valentine thrust his blade downwards, a loud clang pealing throughout the arena as it struck the ground.

Running solely on adrenaline, Jace promptly vaulted himself up onto his feet, ignoring the wobble in his knees as he stood erect once more. He attempted a clean sweep with his blade at Valentine's neck, but as fate would have it, the latter caught his wrist mid-swing and kneed him in the gut, sending him crumpling to the ground on all fours.

Jace's blade clattered as it hit the dirt, and Valentine quickly kicked it a good distance away from his reach, all the while a heinous and condescending chuckle leaving his lips. "Crawl, you dog. Crawl like the pathetic little cur that you are," he sneered, trailing leisurely behind the unarmed former gladiator.

Ignoring his enemy's taunts, Jace raced after his sword, but just as his fingers were close to grasping the hilt, Valentine stomped a heavy boot down on his fingers, eliciting an earsplitting crack as the impact crushed his bones.

Jace bit down hard on his lip to suppress a yell as he clutched his broken hand to his chest, emitting the bitter taste of copper in his mouth. He backed away, when all of a sudden, the stinging pain of scorching, coarse sand burned his golden eyes.

Not bothering to mask his yell this time, Jace turned away from Valentine as he urgently rubbed at his sand-filled eyes.

Still blinded, he groped his hand around for his sword—or anything that could be used as a weapon. He could hear Valentine charging for him, _felt_ him just a mere few feet away from him—and just as Jace prepared to defend himself, blind and without a weapon, his hand enclosed around the sharp edges of a metal strut.

Valiantly, he grit his teeth and rose to his feet, metal strut clutched firmly in his hand. He ignored the thick blood as it trickled from his palm down to his wrist, blindly drawing his hand back as Valentine closed in on him.

Swallowing a deep breath, Jace braced himself for the possible impact of Valentine's sword when a strong body collided into him, and he went down once more, a sharp whoosh of breath escaping him. He heard another's gasp and his golden eyes flew open, cold dread coursing through him.

"Jon?" Jace blinked away the sand from his eyes, praying that the sight before him was nothing more than his impaired eyesight playing tricks on him.

But the moment he heard Clary's scream, he realized with trepidation that it was real.

_It was all much too real._

Jonathan stood hunched over in front of Valentine, the poisoned dagger sticking out of his lower torso, his hand frozen on the hilt of his sheathed sword on his belt. He looked up at his father, a slightly confused and lost expression on his face while Valentine only stared back at him with his mouth agape, his black eyes wide with unhidden shock.

His unusually cold façade slipped away, a look of contrite washing over him as he finally realized what he had done—that he'd stabbed his own _son_.

It was true, Valentine had never cared as much about Jonathan, especially not after his son's blatant betrayal. But even then, he couldn't deny that the boy belonged to him, that even despite his betrayal, he was _his_ blood.

And now, _especially now_, Jonathan couldn't look anymore identical to him—the same build, the same shade of hair, the same facial structure. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing a reflection of his old self, reminding him vividly of the time his own father had betrayed him by choosing Stephen over him and by banishing him from Idris.

"_Dad?_" Jonathan called him in a small voice, bringing Valentine back to his memories, of when his son had been no more than twelve months old. That had been his first word—'dad'.

Valentine's black eyes softened almost unintentionally, and for once in so long, he looked human.

He remembered now. He remembered how much he'd doted on his son then, back when he'd believed he could mold the boy into becoming _him_, groom him into following in his footsteps and continue his legacy—back when he had _hope_.

It wasn't _his_ fault that his son had failed to be the man that he'd wanted him to be, Valentine thought. It was his mother's.

Jocelyn had fed him with too much love and affection; she'd make him _soft_. And because of that, Jonathan had foolishly gave up his life to save the enemy—an unworthy Herondale.

"Why'd you kill my mother, Father?" Jonathan asked in between ragged breaths, tears filling his green eyes. His knees buckled, but before he could even drop to the ground, Jace rushed forward and caught him in his arms, supporting his back against his chest as he carefully seated them on the ground.

Exhaling softly, Jace gingerly dislodged the dagger from Jonathan's torso, causing the white-haired prince to let out a shout of pain.

Jonathan's heart rate accelerated, as did his breathing as the excruciating poison surged through his bloodstream, but he ignored it as he pushed on, trying to make a final connection with his father, to break through his icy heart. He _couldn't_ die just yet, not without at least trying to understand why his father did all those horrible things—why he'd murdered his mother.

"You could have chosen to spare her life," he croaked out, hurt staining his paling face. "You could have chosen anything else instead of greed, revenge or power. You could have chosen to forgive the Herondales. You could have chosen to love _us_." Jonathan's words shook Valentine out of his weak stupor and he gave his son a cold glare.

"Love?" He chuckled darkly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Jonathan, but what does your pint-sized mind know about _love_?" he spat, casting an unsympathetic glance at the growing wound on his son's abdomen, where his poisoned blade had pierced him. "_I _did give myself for love, time and time again, but every single one of those times, I get nothing but betrayal in return. _You_, your sister, the Herondales, and even your whore of a mother! None of you deserve love!"

Harsh coughs ripped through Jonathan's throat at Valentine's cruel words, violent shivers racking his body. Jace continued to hold his brother-in-law, trying to coax him out of his coughing fit with gentle words but it was damn near useless. Spurts of blood began to jet past Jonathan's lips with each vicious cough, staining his chin and neck with dark red.

"Jon!" his sister's voice cried just as she landed on her knees next to her husband.

Jace gave her a worried and despairing look but she didn't even glance at him, her attention solely focused on her brother. She patted Jon's chest with a gentle hand as he continued to hack up mouthfuls of blood, his coughs eventually dying down into wheezes.

"_Clare_—"

"Shh, it's okay, Jon. You're going to be okay." Clary's voice shook as she stroked Jonathan's hair back from his sweaty face. "You're g-going to be _o__-o__kay_," she repeated, trying to convince herself more than Jon.

"Clary—"

"No, Jon. Stop it. Don't you dare leave me—I forbid it! You're not going to die—not until you're old and wrinkly and have _forty_ grandchildren!" she spluttered out angrily, her chest heaving up and down with heavy sobs. She couldn't lose her brother. She couldn't lose her family.

"Jace!" She turned to her golden-eyed husband, a pleading look in her green eyes. "Jace, please… Please do something!" she begged in between harsh gasps but the former gladiator couldn't even manage a single word to bring comfort to his wife.

Jon was dying and there was nothing else that could be done to save him, Jace thought in devastation. But he didn't know how else to tell Clary that.

"Clary…poison…the blade—it's poisoned," Jon rasped, shakily gesturing to the dagger that was lying on the ground next to his slumped form.

Clary's eyes squeezed shut, a cry of agony leaving her lips as she clutched her brother tighter to her, her tears mixing with the sweat in his hair.

"It's okay, Clare. It's okay. You'll be okay, Jace will be okay. You're going to have ten beautiful golden and redhead babies and you're going to be happy. _You're going to be so happy_—" Jon broke off, coughing violently and gasping for breath.

"_Jon_," Clary whimpered pleadingly. "_Please don't…you'll be okay…you have to_—_you have to be okay…_"

"Be strong, little sis," Jon breathed, his voice barely a whisper. His face was tight with pain but Jace could tell he was doing his best to not show it, that even in his final moments, he was trying to be strong for his sister's sake. "Promise me, Clary," he urged her, his bloodied hand clutching Clary's, his green eyes boring into hers. "Promise me you'll be strong for me. _Promise me_." His breathing grew even more ragged as his body started to convulse.

"_I promise, Jon…I promise_—_"_ Her voice cracked in between her sobs and she hugged her brother tighter to her chest.

"Jace…" Jon's voice snapped the former gladiator's attention back to him.

Jace raised his tear-filled golden eyes and reached his hand to grasp Jon's. "I'm so sorry, Jon—"

"No, Jace," Jon interrupted weakly. "Stop it. Both of you, stop blaming yourself for this," he choked out, rivulets of blood still pouring unforgivingly from his mouth. "I did this willingly. _For m-myself. _Please—Don't feel sorry for me."

Jon's head tilted backwards, resting on Jace's shoulder, his bright green eyes unfocused, staring almost dreamily at the sky. "I'll see you both again, someday." His tone was light as he smiled, a serene look on his face.

Jace gripped Jon's hand tighter in his, biting his lip fervently to contain his sob, but a stubborn tear still escaped his eye.

"Promise you'll look after my sister, Jace," Jon murmured in a suddenly weary tone, as if exhaustion was finally overtaking him. "Promise me…" He trailed off, his green eyes slipping shut, his breaths slowly evening out.

Jace stared at Jon's peaceful face, feeling his heart tighten. To anyone who didn't know any better, Jonathan was probably just sleeping. His chest moved up and down lightly as he breathed his final breaths, and then all went still, his hand going slack in Jace's grip.

An agonized wail left Clary's lips as she shook her brother's lifeless body; the arena was blanketed in complete silence except for the deafening mournful cries of the princess.

With each wretched sob that left her, Jace felt as though his chest was being stabbed away by a sharp knife—_over _and _over_ again.

Jace leaned down, pouring silent tears over Jon's cold cheek. "Ave atque vale, my brother," he whispered, quiet sniffles leaving him.

With a heavy heart, he gently placed Jonathan's body on the ground before gathering his weeping wife in his arms. She fought against his hold, her tiny fists pounding angrily against his chest. Jace felt torn.

Did Clary blame him for her brother's death? Did she hate him now? Would she be better off without him in her life?

He realized with a jolt that none of it mattered. He could never leave Clary on her own because he loved her too damn much. And besides, he had a promise he needed to fulfill. He needed to keep Jon's last wish—to take care of Clary.

"Shh…honey, it's okay. J—_He's_ in a better place now," Jace said in a strangled voice as he stroked Clary's fiery red curls, trying to ease her assault on him. "Shhh…" he continued to make shushing noises as she fell apart in his arms, her loud wails eventually dulling into quiet gasps and hiccups when she finally gave in and threw her arms around Jace's neck.

"Clary—" Jace barely even spoke her name when a bright silver suddenly blazed, accompanied by an all-too-familiar peal.

Instinctively, Jace pushed Clary out of the way, his golden eyes wide and alert. He rolled in the opposite direction as Valentine's blade descended, hitting the ground with a sharp ringing noise.

Jace launched himself to his feet, his lithe body moving like a mist as he dodged Valentine's lethal, ensuing blows.

Despite what he might have believed about Valentine being an emotionless demon, Jace could see how much Jonathan's death affected him. He swung at him wildly, pure vengeful anger on his face.

Weaponless as he may be, Jace utilized his tenacious, lion-like stealth to duck, veer and swerve out of the way, seemingly reinvigorated as the fiend continued to lunge and slash at him unsuccessfully.

As Valentine's sword came, swinging with total abandon for his neck, Jace ducked his head down to evade the blow, and as he mounted to his full height, he thrust his hard elbow upwards and struck the fiend squarely in the throat.

Valentine let out a sharp breath at the force of the former gladiator's assault, his hand going slack on his weapon. Without missing a beat, Jace knocked Valentine's sword out of his hand and caught it expertly by the hilt.

He swung the blade in his wrist once in an elegant arc, and whilst in mid-air, slashed a deep cut at the back of his enemy's knees.

Valentine let out an unearthly scream as he fell to the ground, his hand clawing vengefully for Jace, who without even hesitating, butchered off the fiend's wrist for good measure.

Balancing the blade in his grip, Jace then pointed the tip at the base of Valentine's throat as a mark of finality, his hand steady and his gaze unwavering.

"It's over," Jace breathed as he brought the tip of the sword closer to Valentine's throbbing pulse point and pierced the skin there.

Valentine gasped, the black irises of his eyes eclipsing the whites as he glared at Jace, a look of pure, unadulterated hate on his face. "So do it then! Do what your weak father failed to do! Kill me!" he yelled unremorsefully, his breaths quick and heavy.

"God knows you don't deserve a quick death," Jace muttered. "But then again, who am I to place that judgment on you?" Valentine's eyes flashed in shock at Jace's words but he quickly concealed it with a smirk.

"Only because you are much too _soft_ to do it," he taunted the former gladiator.

Jace exhaled a soft laugh. "Maybe. But at least I'm man enough to admit it. The same can't be said for you though," he said. "Unlike you, Valentine, I have nothing else to prove." Jace's words rang true; in that moment, he was nothing more than an orphaned son and a brother-in-law seeking justice for all the pain that Valentine had caused him and his family.

Valentine opened his mouth to retort but his attention was cut short by his approaching daughter. She was holding a blade of her own in her hand—_one that belonged to Jonathan. _

She stopped next to Jace and slipped her hand into his free one—the one he'd broken earlier—her face hard and completely dried of tears. Jace squeezed her hand lightly, feeling a slight twinge of pain from the gesture but otherwise kept his gaze on Valentine; he didn't want to risk him taking advantage of his distraction.

Unexpectedly, Clary raised the sword in her own hand before placing it on the other side of Valentine's throat, sandwiching his neck in between both her and Jace's swords.

Her hand shook a little underneath the weight of the blade but she was otherwise steady, resolute.

"Do you have any last words…_Father_?" she asked in a thin voice, her face devoid of any other emotion but rage.

Jace was shocked by Clary's sudden unyielding coldness—albeit it being directed to her father—but he masked it as he kept his eyes locked on Valentine.

The fiend had an amused smirk on his face, as if the blades restricting his neck's movements were nonexistent.

"My, my, Clarissa. Look at you—a little girl playing with swords…how utterly…_adorable_." He clucked his tongue, eyeing Clary in a manner that would have usually made her cower away from him in fear—but not anymore.

"_That's enough, Valentine_," she hissed. "If you have nothing else worth saying, then don't say it. Shut up! JUST SHUT UP!" she yelled, so much unlike the soft and gentle young girl Jace met all those months ago. She was a young woman drowning in her own grief, brought on by the fresh pain of her brother's death.

Jace squeezed Clary's hand again, trying to comfort her from her inner torment. "Focus, Clary." His tone was gentle as he rubbed circles on the back of her hand, and slowly, her harsh angry breaths returned to normal.

Clary's eyes met her father's once again and she quietly uttered the words she'd once read, a phrase only fitting for the end of Valentine's reign. "_Mene mene tekel upharsin_," she whispered in an acidic tone, eliciting a look of complete astonishment from Valentine as he comprehended the meaning behind his daughter's hushed but powerful words.

_'Where had the timid young girl disappeared to? How could she have changed so much, in such a short amount of time?'_ Valentine thought, alarm beginning to show on his face.

As Clary looked at her father now, she realized that for the first time in her entire life, he was finally looking at her in the face and seeing _her_. The daughter whose life he had put through a lot of unneeded pain, whose mother and brother had been robbed from her—_by him._ And for once, despite the hatred she saw in him, she saw that he was also looking at her, oddly, with a look of pride and respect.

"On three, sweetheart," Jace cued his wife, turning his head slightly to look at her. She caught his golden gaze with her green eyes and gave him a curt nod, unmistakable but otherwise carefully disguised anxiety simmering beneath her hard exterior.

Jace gripped Clary's hand tighter, giving her _his_ courage before he returned his attention back to Valentine, his aureate eyes bright with steely determination. _"One."_

"Two," Clary counted, her green eyes burning like hot emeralds into her father's.

Fear flashed in his black eyes, and he cast her a pleading look, as if begging his 'soft' daughter to spare him.

Clary nearly scoffed aloud at his pathetic attempts of trying to 'win her over'. Perhaps the old her—Clary Morgenstern—would have pitied the man, but not _her_, not Clary _Herondale_. There was no forgiving him this time—not unless he could undo everything that he's ever done.

_Not unless he could bring her brother back._

The silence stretched on a second longer than before.

Not for the first time, Jace saw both him and Clary in the meadow, happy and free at long last—though they weren't alone. Two giggling children were with them, a young boy with Jace's golden curls and a smaller girl with strawberry-blonde hair. _His family_.

That was all the amount of convincing that Jace needed. He had to kill Valentine, not just to avenge his parents, Jocelyn, Luke, or Jonathan, but so that he and Clary could have a chance at happy life with their family—with their children.

So without another moment's hesitation, the young Herondale couple uttered together decisively, _"Three."_

Valentine's eyes widened, his face a bone-white color as Jace and Clary moved in unison, their sharp blades meeting at the center of his throat.

All was silent as the fiend's head was neatly sliced off his shoulders, his head rolling to the ground with a final thump, his body following soon after, landing in a heap of bloodied mass at the couple's feet.

Clary let out a whimper, dropping her brother's bloody sword from her hand before she was caged in Jace's warm embrace, the two holding on to each other with love, grief and relief as their one true nightmare finally came to pass.

It was over.

It was finally over.

* * *

**A/N:**

LIE. It's not over. Not yet.

There will be an epilogue after this one, so readers, please don't abandon this story just yet. But until then, please, please, _please_ leave me your thoughts on everything that went down in this chapter.

OKAY, so on to the major issue of this chapter: **Jonathan's death**.

I know, I know...WHY? WHY DID I KILL JONATHAN? Well, let me just say that _I_ didn't kill Jon; technically, Valentine did. But okay, in all seriousness though, I'll admit that I planned this from the very beginning, even despite knowing that it wouldn't be a popular decision. Not because I intentionally like stabbing people's hearts and making them mourn over the death of their favorite characters, but because Jon's death gave the story the extra, necessary layers and emotion that I wanted when wrapping up the entire conflict with Valentine. And though it would have been nice to please my readers, I had to stay true to what I want to achieve in this story as its writer. (I think I dropped enough clues in this chapter and the preceding ones that Jon would die...so it shouldn't have been a total surprise, right? _I know, I know._ As readers, we always hope for the best, but as irritating as this sounds, life is not all mangoes and coconut pancakes...)

Look at this from another perspective—**beyond** the surface value of Jonathan's death...one, if it weren't for him, Jace would've probably died. Two, Jon's death struck something really, really deep in not just Clary, but Valentine (or at least, a little). He was so close to breaking his father's cold facade, but alas, Valentine was beyond saving. It was completely heartbreaking for me when writing about how Valentine turned down Jonathan's attempts to reach out to him in his final moments, but nevertheless, I feel proud of Clary for taking up her brother's sword to avenge him...

Yes, I agree that it would have been completely awesome if everyone good had survived in Redemption, but then again, to me, the story would have fallen a little flat because Jace's final confrontation with Valentine would have lacked the depth and meaning that I was gunning for. I wanted to show that the bad blood doesn't only exist between Jace and Valentine, but also between him and his children. Also, this was really subtle, but in sacrificing himself, Jon was, in turn, gaining his own redemption for everything he felt were his shortcomings as a son and a brother. Ooh, sidetrack...How do you guys feel about the fact that Jon _had_ a younger brother who was supposed to be the same age as Jace? It was a last minute addition I made to the storyline to strengthen Jon's character motivation, why he felt the strong need to protect Jace, ya-dee-ya-de-blah.

Okay, I think I've explained all I needed to explain here. I apologize if this chapter was in any way disappointing. I think lowly of myself so to me, the last scene (esp the fighting scenes) really suck. Or they were bleh, substandard. Sorry about that. And more than that, I apologize for any broken hearts...the only thing I can promise you guys though is that Jonathan's death will not go unremembered.

Please, even if you're mad at me, remember to leave a review, but no HATE please! I'll put up the epilogue soon...like hopefully, in less than a week. And it will be happy. Or much happier than this one. Hint: It takes place eight months after this chapter, so you guys should probably know what to expect, right?:)

XO!

~N


	24. Epilogue: Redemption At Last

**Author's Note:**

Helloooo, darlings. The last chapter is here. Yay. EPILOGUE.

Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter, and for being so understanding of why I had to kill off Jon's character. Again, not that that was an easy decision to make...I apologize once again for everyone who did cry when reading about Jonathan's death.

Shoutout to Sosebo, Arelia Miles, Aubrey Kelly, AlphaX14, lovedance02, DamphiricAngel2014, grabyourstele, FluffyFluffLover, Herondale, Jcdbunny, Guest(s), shannie83, Random Brit, Virginia Herondale-Raffaeli, Bridalmask2000 &amp; TwilightMortal!

And of course, with this being officially the last chapter, I'd like to thank everyone who's followed this story from the very beginning and everyone who has, along the way, spurred me on with such motivating reviews. I appreciate every single one of you; thank you all so much!;)

Well, epilogue's shorter than the previous chapters. The start will be a little sad, but it will end off on a happy note for our lovely couple. So I hope you'll enjoy reading it;)

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

**Epilogue: Redemption At Last**

_"Clary? Clare-bear?" A soft, gentle voice said, his tone tinged with the palpable sound of relief and sadness._

_Clary curled up further against the floor, her arms holding her knees to her chest tightly as if she were trying to fold herself into a tiny ball. Her muscles groaned in protest as she moved, sore from the amount of time she'd spent in that uncomfortable position, but she ignored the ache anyway as she continued to rock herself back and forth, traitorous tears continuously streaming from her eyes._

_The boy sighed as he lowered himself onto the floor next to the redheaded princess. He'd spent almost an entire hour scouring the palace looking for her, worried that in her grief, she had run off somewhere to hurt herself. But low and behold, she'd been hiding underneath her bed in her room the entire time, the way she used to every other time her father had released her from his room, after one of his many beatings._

_Slowly, the boy reached his hand out to stroke her hair, his touch wary and hesitant, as if he were approaching a wild animal._

_"What are you doing down here, sweetie?" he asked when she didn't respond to him, her body still shaking with hiccups. _

_"Clare—" He flinched when she did the same, her face contorted in anger the moment he tried to pull her out of her hiding place. _

_The boy swiftly retracted his hands, looking at the girl apologetically, almost contrite when she opened her mouth to speak._

_"Leave me alone," she whispered hoarsely, her emerald green eyes reddened and glossy with tears. _

_The boy hesitated. "No," he answered firmly, a look of fierce determination on his face. "You don't get to decide for me what it is I choose to do, and you most certainly don't get to decide for me _when_ I'll leave you alone." _

_Clary glared at him, angry tears slipping past her eyes. "Go away!" she shouted as she shoved at the boy's chest, causing him to stagger backwards away from her. _

_"I don't want you here. I don't _need_ you here. I don't want your comfort, and most of all, I don't want you to tell me that it's going to be okay. It's not okay. And it will _never_ be. So just stop trying to feed me lies and empty promises. Just stop," she said bitingly, causing hurt to flash in his eyes._

_"Don't do this to me, Clare. Please," the boy pleaded. "Don't push me away."_

_"Why shouldn't I?" she snapped. "You're not _them_," her voice cracked, "Don't you understand? I don't want anyone else but them. But you can't give me what I want, can you?" _

_Despite the piercing hurt he felt at her words, he pulled the girl into his arms, ignoring her loud shouts and squirms of protest. _

_"I love you," he said, his throat weighed down by a heavy lump. "You're all I have left. Please don't push me away. Don't leave me too, Clary. Please…"_

_At that, Clary finally gave up fighting and buried her face into the boy's chest, regret washing over her. How could she have been so selfish? She wasn't the only one grieving, she rebuked herself. "I love you, Jonathan. I love you. I'm sorry. Please. Promise you won't leave me next. I can't lose you too," Clary sobbed into her brother's chest as he held her tighter to him._

_"I love you too, baby sis. I promise I won't leave you. Ever. I'll always be there for you. Forever," he said as he threaded his fingers through her hair._

_She looked up at him, hope shining in her eyes. "You promise?"_

_"I promise."_

* * *

Jace leaned against the oak tree, watching worriedly as Clary stood before her brother's grave, a bouquet of white roses tucked neatly in her arms. He watched as her lips trembled, and a soft sob escaped her before she pressed her palm against her mouth to muffle the sound.

He wanted so badly to go to her, to hold her in his arms and comfort her, but he kept his distance. He knew she needed the space, to grieve her brother in peace, and most of all, to finally come to terms with his passing.

Nearly eight months had passed since Jonathan's death, and Clary had all but spent most of her time away behind the palace walls, never truly accepting that her brother was gone. She'd barely cried since the night Jonathan was killed. Neither had she found the strength in her to leave the palace grounds to visit Jon's grave since the funeral—not until now, anyway.

Clary had risen early that morning with a sudden urge to visit Jon's grave, and Jace hadn't the heart to reject her, so he'd silently agreed to take her.

Now, Jace watched, his heart breaking for his wife, as she sank down onto her knees, her sobs getting louder as her fingers shakily reached out to touch the engraved words on her brother's gravestone:

'Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern

19 April 1687 – 30 December 1708

Noble Prince of Idris

Beloved Son &amp; Brother'

Unable to take it anymore as Clary began to crush the gravestone to her chest, Jace trudged forward towards her, falling on his knees behind her. He pulled his wife onto his lap, rocking her back and forth as she cried, her face buried in his chest.

It went on for a long time, the minutes stretching on that it felt like hours, until a small kick brought them back to the present.

Clary pulled back slightly from Jace, a small smile tugging her lips as she took his large hand in hers, guiding it to rest on the rounded protrusion of her stomach, where their baby had kicked her.

Jace smiled, planting a sweet kiss on Clary's lips as he felt another flutter—_a kick_—from beneath his fingertips.

There it was. The one thing that held them together despite everything. The one thing that made their lives seem worthwhile despite the painful losses they've had—_their baby_.

Strange, how such a small being, who had still yet to enter their lives, could be so powerful and could evoke so much love from them. Despite everything, their baby had been a blessing, giving them light in their hour of darkness. Truthfully, if it weren't for their little angel, Jace was sure that Clary would have fallen into a deeper depression.

Just two weeks after Jon's passing, Clary had fallen into a steady wave of nausea and was constantly throwing up, especially in the mornings. Jace had been worried that she was falling ill due to the loss of her brother, but after a thorough check-up with Magnus, they'd found out that she was, in fact, pregnant with his child.

Now, she was only a few days away from her due date, and Clary and Jace couldn't be more excited to welcome their child into their lives. They'd done all the necessary preparations, fixing up their baby's room; Clary had even knitted a couple pair of mittens for their child, and Jace had to admit, they were one of the most adorable things he'd ever laid eyes on.

Ever the loving husband and father-to-be, Jace would spent the nights, when he'd finally been relieved of his royal duties, giving Clary hotbaths, back rubs and foot massages—basically pampering her in every way that he could. He'd spend the nights, even after Clary had long fallen asleep, lying by her stomach, reading to their baby and at times, just talking to _him_—or her_._

Jace loved their little angel, just about as much as he loved Clary, and he knew that he would readily give up anything for their baby_._

In the last eight months, apart from his duties as a husband, Jace had been busy, particularly with handling the affairs of the kingdom. It was no secret that since Sebastian's death, Alicante had fallen to Idris as well, and now lay under Jace's rule. Jace had been afraid of having to deal with the responsibilities of running not only one kingdom but now two; but with Patrick Penhallow's help, and the loyal support of the people, he'd fared pretty well, and had even managed to unite the people of Alicante and Idris.

And at long last, much to the relief of many actually, the gladiator games had been done away with, and the arenas—both in Idris and Alicante—were now used as facility-training centers for both the Alicante and Idrisian troops.

With their newfound freedom, the gladiators have sworn a debt and oath to Jace, promising their loyalty and allegiance to the new king. Alec Lightwood, Jace's _parabatai_, now served as his general in the army, and has since then been reunited with the rest of his siblings, Isabelle and Max Lightwood. They were all happy, at least for now.

"Should we go home now?" Clary asked softly as she broke away from their kiss.

Jace was rubbing smooth circles onto the loose, pale-pink silk gown that covered her swollen belly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he felt their baby move.

"Only if you're ready to," he replied, not wanting to rush her time at her brother's grave.

Clary chanced another look at Jon's gravestone, running her fingers over the engraved words again, lingering on one word that meant the most to her—'brother'.

"I love you, Jon. No matter where you are right now, I'll always love you. You'll always be my big brother," Clary whispered, placing the bouquet of roses on the grass, resting it against the gravestone.

Jace smiled, proud at his wife and admiring her for her strength, for not giving up no matter how much it pained her to move on in her life without her brother.

"And I love you, Jace. Always," she said as she turned to him.

Jace gently stroked her cheek before leaning in and capturing her lips with his. Clary smiled into the kiss, tugging Jace as close as she possibly could with her round stomach in between them.

"Always, Clary," Jace murmured against her lips before helping his pregnant wife to her feet.

* * *

That night, as Clary was sleeping, her back pressed up against Jace's warm chest as usual and his large hand splayed protectively over her belly, she was rudely awakened by a sharp pain in her stomach.

Clary gasped, her face contorting into a heavy frown as the agonizing pain persisted. Pressing her right hand to her stomach and tentatively rubbing circles onto it with her knuckles, Clary rolled over onto her back, as gently as she could against the pain.

She shakily tried to sit up, leaning on her elbows for support when another wave of pain assaulted her. Groaning, Clary threw her head backwards, her eyes clenched shut as the contraction rolled over her.

"Jace," she whimpered, nudging her husband's sleeping form. She cupped the base of her round stomach, trying so hard to hold back her tears when she felt a trickle of warm water rushing down between her legs.

"Jace," she tried again in a choked voice, patting her husband's shoulder more urgently this time.

"Hmm?" he replied sleepily, his hand absentmindedly rubbing circles onto her stomach as he curled up closer to her.

Shifting his position so that his head was now laying by Clary's stomach, Jace nuzzled his face into her side before pressing a soft kiss to her contracting belly and sleepily murmuring sweet nothings to their baby. Clary resisted the urge to slap her husband awake as she heard his soft, gentle snores starting up again.

"JACE!" Clary viciously screamed as another contraction hit her, immediately jolting Jace into a sitting position, his golden hair sticking up in several different directions.

He stared uncomprehendingly at his wife, his golden eyes still clouded with sleep and his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. She was gripping the sheets in both her hands, her knuckles white from the strain and her teeth clenched together tightly.

_Uh-oh._ Was she angry with him again?

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hungry? Are you craving something?" he asked, his sleepy voice innocent and oblivious like a little boy's.

Clary would have smoothened out the wrinkles in between his eyebrows and kissed his pouty lips if it weren't for the sole fact that she felt like she was being ripped apart from inside out at the moment.

"Are you serious, right now?" she hissed through the pain, not meaning to sound so rude to her husband. "Jace, I'm having the baby!"

That seemed to wake Jace right up, his golden eyes widening as he immediately sat up on his knees, his arms braced out wide as if to catch the baby.

"B-baby? Baby! Clary? What do I do?" he whisper-shouted at her, fear and panic clear on his features.

Clary groaned again, slumping deeper against the pillows as a sharper, stronger contraction hit her.

She was already beyond irritated with having to put up with the excruciating pain without having to deal with her husband's state of helplessness. This was the so-called _fearless_ ex-gladiator she married! Clary knew that their marriage had softened Jace in more ways than one, and had turned him into a domesticated man—which she had to admit, was completely endearing at times. But she really needed _him_ to be the one holding it together right now!

Reaching for one of the smaller pillows on the bed, Clary clobbered Jace on the head with it repeatedly. Yes, that ought to knock some sense into him! She would apologize for abusing her husband later on. She knew he would have to forgive her anyway. He loved her too much to not to. Not to mention, she was the one bringing _his_ child into the world.

"GO. GET. MAGNUS. NOW!" she punctuated each word with a furious hit to the head with the pillow. Jace's only relief was that she was hitting him with a pillow and not something truly damaging like the brass candelabra on the bedside table—which, _coincidentally_, was only a mere few inches away from her fingers now.

Upon realizing the compromising danger he was in, Jace scrambled out of the bed wordlessly, not bothering to throw on a shirt as he ran towards the door and flung it open, frantically yelling for Magnus as he raced along the corridor. He loved his wife, but there was no way in hell he was sticking around to face her murderous wrath while she was in labor.

* * *

Clary fell back against the pillows tiredly, her aching grip on Jace's hand still intact, her chest heaving with heavy pants as the searing pressure in her abdomen slowly faded away.

She knew that it was only momentary, that the pain would slowly build up again and flare with such an intense heat that she would have to push. They've been at it for almost two hours now, but Clary knew they were getting close.

Beside her, Jace smiled encouragingly at his wife, dabbing her sweaty forehead with a washcloth before kissing her gently on the temple. Despite her exhaustion, Clary smiled back at him, albeit a weak smile, reaching up to kiss him softly as she rested. Jace's hand slipped beneath her cream silk nightgown as they kissed, rubbing smooth circles tenderly onto the taut skin of her swollen belly.

Meanwhile, Magnus worked furiously underneath the sheets that were drawn over Clary's knees; his usual glittery self had on a serious expression as he tended to Clary and Jace's baby.

"The head's out. Just one more, Clary," Magnus told her.

Clary nodded weakly, before propping herself upright, as far as she could go with Jace's hand supporting the back of her head and the other one clutched tightly in hers when she felt another contraction slowly working its way up her abdomen.

"Okay, Clary. Push," Magnus urged her, and Clary did, as long and as hard as she could. She grunted, biting down on her lip to prevent herself from screaming as the pain intensified, stabbing through her body.

Jace stood hunched over her, not caring in the least bit as her nails dug into the skin of his hand. He would readily sacrifice and accept what little pain he could feel, knowing that the pain Clary was going through was far greater than his own.

He bent down, touching his forehead to Clary's, urging her on with sweet words of encouragement as she continued to push, her knees shaking furiously with the exertion.

Tears were beginning to slowly trickle down her face but Clary hung on. She wouldn't give up. They were close. _So, so close. _She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging onto Jace's hand tighter as she bore down, a low groan escaping her.

"You're doing great, Clary. Keep pushing," Magnus's voice continued to prompt her.

After what seemed like forever, a sweet, little cry pierced through the late night air, alerting them to the arrival of their newborn.

Clary collapsed onto the pillows, a satisfied smile on her face as Jace grinned down at her, immediately reaching to touch his lips to hers.

Covered in blood and sweat and all, Clary was still the most beautiful woman in the world to Jace. She was his rock, just as he was hers, and he would never, ever in a million years, trade her away for anyone or anything else.

The two young parents broke their kiss shortly after, watching longingly as Magnus handed their baby over to Isabelle, who stood by the foot of their bed, fresh towels and blankets ready to clean and clothe their baby.

"Congratulations, lovebirds. You are proud parents of a healthy baby boy," Magnus told them after noticing the silent question on their faces.

Clary and Jace smiled widely again, and Jace had to fight the urge to childishly pump his fist into the air at the news that he had a son. Not that he would've minded having a daughter either. He would have been more than happy to entertain his daughter playing dolls or even dress-up; and he would have been more than happy to protect her forever, just as much as he would protect his son.

After Clary had been thoroughly cleaned up, Izzy finally handed them their baby boy, who was swaddled in a bundle of blue blankets. Clary and Jace's smiles grew even wider.

Jace pushed the blanket away to get a better view of his son's face, grinning as he noticed his pale ivory skin, like his mother's, and the wisp of wavy golden-blonde hair on his tiny head, like his own.

The little boy wriggled around restlessly in his mother's arms, making soft whimpering noises before he opened his eyes—emerald green eyes flecked with a fair bit of gold—the perfect combination of both his parents' eyes.

"Hi, honey. We're your mommy and daddy," Clary cooed to the little boy, happy tears running down her face. She bent down, kissing their newborn on his forehead tenderly, lingeringly, as if she never meant to let him go.

Jace felt his heart grow even warmer at the motherly gesture. It was truly a beautiful moment, and Jace couldn't have been more proud to have Clary be the mother of his child. As young as she was, Clary would be a wonderful mother—Jace just knew it.

"What are we going to name him, Jace?" Clary asked after a while, momentarily breaking eye contact with her husband to coo lovingly at her son who was currently sucking greedily on her breast.

Jace was about to open his mouth to answer when Clary suddenly turned her head back towards him, a stern expression on her motherly face. "You better think hard about that question. I'm not naming him Jace Junior or Jace the Second, or anything along those lines," she warned him.

Jace chuckled, pushing Clary's sweaty hair back from her face. "So fierce, _mommy_." He wrinkled his nose at her teasingly. "How about Little Jace? We could call him LJ for short," he joked, a twinkle in his golden eyes.

Much to his utter amusement, Clary's lips parted into a snarl. "We are not naming our son after you," she growled, imminent threat dripping behind her words.

She looked so adorable that Jace couldn't help but chuckle again before leaning down to plant a soft kiss on their son's head. When he pulled away, his calloused fingers gently stroking the little boy's cheek, his face lit up with pride as he murmured, "Jonathan Christopher Herondale."

He turned his warm golden eyes to Clary, who was gaping slightly at him, tears of happiness gathering in her green eyes at the suggestion that they named their baby after her late brother.

"It's a strong name—a hero's name, don't you think?" he asked his speechless wife.

Her bottom lip quivered as a single tear slipped from her eye, and she nodded happily. "It's perfect. _J.C._," she said as she cradled the baby boy closer to her, snuggling back further into Jace's arms.

Jace willingly obliged, pulling Clary's head to rest in the crook of his neck before planting another long, sweet kiss on her temple.

"J.C.—which, _coincidentally_, sounds an awful lot like 'Jace', don't you think?" he murmured smilingly against Clary's temple, unable to resist the opportunity to get onto his wife's nerves.

Clary pinched his arm and nipped him playfully on his neck. "You better take that back, Jace Herondale," she warned him again.

"Never, ever, Clarissa Herondale," he retorted, stroking his son's fuzz of blonde hair before meeting Clary's sparkling green eyes.

"He's a hungry one, isn't he?" he commented, casually nudging his head towards J.C. who was still breastfeeding from his mother, one of his tiny fists now wrapped tightly around Jace's index finger.

"His father's appetite, no doubt," Clary returned spontaneously while rubbing their son's back. "Speaking of which, you've gotten fatter, Jace. No surprises there, of course, what with the amount of cupcakes you've been eating lately. If it weren't for the fact that I was showing, people might've thought that you were the pregnant one instead of me," she joked before cooing at J.C.

"Daddy's a big fatty, isn't he? Oh yes, he is! Yes, he is!" Clary nuzzled her nose against J.C.'s matching button one as the little boy finally unlatched from his mother and gave out a small cry of what she interpreted to be agreement.

Jace rolled his eyes at his wife sharing a joke with their newborn son at his expense, though his lips helplessly twitched upwards into an amused smirk.

"Mommy's a short, little meanie, isn't she? Turning you against daddy," Jace chipped in, pinching J.C.'s chubby little cheek as Clary moved him over her shoulder to burp him. "Don't worry, _Jace_. We'll eat all the yummy cupcakes we want from _Taki's _and hide them from mommy," he crooned.

"Hey!" Clary said, pouting her lips. "I'm not that short! And his name is J.C., NOT JACE," she reiterated. "And you are not feeding my son cupcakes!"

"You know you love it," Jace replied, sticking his tongue out at her. "And you know you love me, Clarissa Herondale," he said, resting his palm against her rosy cheek.

Clary automatically leaned into his touch, smiling softly. "I do. I love you, Jace," Clary said sweetly, using her free hand that wasn't holding J.C. to gently lower Jace's head towards hers.

He leaned down eagerly, kissing her with as much love and passion as he could muster.

"I love you too, Clary. And our little J.C.," Jace said, holding his wife and son tightly to him, basking in the warmth and peacefulness of each other's loving embrace.

Before long, the young family succumbed to their exhaustion, and they fell asleep, content, in each other's arms.

They knew that their lives weren't perfect—they've gained and they've lost, but at the end of the day, they knew they would be able to get through it, just as long as they had each other. All was said and done, and they've finally gained their redemption.

* * *

**A/N:**

Wow. THE END. I did it!

Ending's a little cheesy, but eh, at least there's still a happy ending right? I hope I did the story justice with the epilogue and that you guys liked Clace's baby. (Ahh, J.C. after Jonathan...I told you guys his death won't go unremembered...)

And oh, just fyi, the first scene was actually of Clary's flashback of the time Jon made a promise to her after their mom's death and Luke's supposed 'abandonment'...so yeah, that's who 'them' were referring to.

Ahh, feels so good to wrap this story up and to finally mark it as complete! It's been an amazing journey writing for you guys, and for myself...writing was my escape and when I first came up with an idea for this story, I was actually extremely hesitant to post it up on Fanfiction, but ah, I think it was worth it with all the amount of support you guys have given me. It's helped my self-esteem some, so thanks for that;)

As for whether there will be a sequel, (I've received a few requests for it), I'm afraid at this point, I'mma have to say that it's most likely going to be a 'no'. One, because I'm not sure if I'll have the time to write with final projects and work, but we'll see. I'm still trying to figure out my path in life...and what I'm going to do once I graduate. Urgh, decisions, decisions...and also because at this point, the ideas that I have are very fragmented and not solid enough for an actual sequel...But hey, guess what? I'm open to the idea of writing one-shots or outtakes of Redemption per reviewer request, so yeah, there's that. Tell me what you guys want to read that I've missed out in the story and I'll write it when I have the time. On another note, I came up with another idea for a Clace fanfic a couple of months ago but it'll probably be a long while before I post another story...

Well, this is it. Remember to leave me a review of what you think, not only on the epilogue, but on the story as a whole...and yeah, if you guys want, leave suggestions for one-shots/outtakes, yeah? I've something drafted (hint: Clace family moment) and will most likely post it up when I deem it satisfactory...

XO!

~N


	25. Clace Outtakes: Pre-Epilogue Part 1

**Author's Note:**

Hello lovelies!:) I have missed updating so much...

Merry X'Mas to all;)

This is a series of Clace outtakes that take place before the epilogue...the first one being directly after Jon's funeral, the second of Jace giving Clary a bath *winks*...and the third of Clary telling Jace that she's pregnant. They're really short, way shorter than all my previous updates but I hope you guys will like it anyway! No Christmas references though, sorry about that...:/

Before that, I'd like to give a shoutout to my amazing reviewers hufflepuffamity, Jcdbunny, Toolazytologin, lindsayhonaker, Annieace01, AlphaX14, TwilightMortal, shannie83, Bridalmask2000, TMI lover and Jling! And an especially special shoutout to some extra awesome reviewers, Married to an Herondale, Sosebo, Arelia Miles, Stelle's Pen, Raven, AthenaLesage, FluffyFluffLover, DamphiricAngel2014 and H.T! I love and appreciate every single one of you so much, and of course everyone who's faithfully stuck with me to the end.

**Disclaimer:** Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

Jace sat on the edge of the bed next to Clary, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he stroked her hair. She was staring blankly into space, occasionally sniffling, though her previously tear-stained eyes now remained dry.

It had been an hour since Jonathan's funeral, an hour since the late prince's life had been honored and he was laid to rest, buried amongst the rest of the dead kings in Idris.

As for Valentine, his body was buried in the Forbidden Forest, amongst those he'd unjustly killed many years ago. He wasn't given a funeral, just the minimum rites carried out on those who'd passed on.

"Clary? Sweetheart?" Jace tried in a hesitant voice.

She remained unresponsive, their steady breaths filling the silence. She'd been that way ever since Jace had carried her out of the cemetery and back into their room: catatonic, impassive, _lifeless_…as if she weren't even there anymore.

Jace pinched the bridge of his nose in contrite, silently admonishing himself for having even pressured Clary to attend her brother's funeral in the first place when in truth, she'd been extremely reluctant to. She hadn't wanted to remember her brother that way, she hadn't wanted the last image she had of him dead and still as a statue, never to wake again, she'd said.

But instead of giving in to her pleas, Jace had been adamant that they'd both show Jonathan their last respects, that they both owed it to him to be there at his funeral; he'd given up his life for them, after all, a debt neither of them could ever repay. And on those terms, Clary had finally relented, forcing herself to be strong and present at Jon's funeral—

Jace had thought that it would have done his wife good, that seeing her brother for the last time would have given her the closure that she needed, but instead, his plan had backfired tremendously.

The moment Jonathan's body had been lowered into the ground, Clary had broken down in a way Jace had never seen before, screaming and howling like a woman who'd lost her grip on sanity, demanding that they leave her brother's body be. In fact, if Jace hadn't restrained her, he was more than certain that she would have flung herself into the grave with her brother and try to shake his deceased body back to life—either that or she would have forced them to bury her alive together with her brother's corpse.

In short, it was a memory that Jace never wished to relive.

Jace sighed as he lied down next to his wife, leaning his forehead against hers. "I don't know what to do here, Clary," he admitted. "Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want. Just talk to me, Clary, please. Don't shut me out," he begged her.

"He's gone," she said hoarsely, her emerald green eyes unblinking. "He's really gone…"

Jace felt his throat tighten. What was he supposed to say to that? _I'm sorry? I know?_ Neither seemed to be helpful remarks; if anything, they'd probably cause Clary to resent him and push him further away from her, and Jace didn't want that.

"It should have been me," Jace said guiltily. "Jon wouldn't be dead if it weren't for me. It's all my fault he's—"

"No," Clary interrupted, her response more out of instinct than anything. In spite of her grief, her subconscious despised that Jace would even say that; she didn't blame him for anything. "It's not your fault…please don't say it's your fault."

Jace bit his lip, holding back a retort at Clary's attempt to make him feel better. _He didn't deserve it. _He didn't think he did.

Remembering his words to Jon, how he'd convinced him that they were never in the position to decide a person's life and death, Jace felt like a hypocrite. He couldn't find it in him to believe his words now—not when he felt responsible for Jon's death. Jonathan would be alive if it weren't for him.

_Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa._

"Jon wouldn't have wanted you to blame yourself for what happened," Clary continued, her voice sounding miles away. "And I don't want you to either."

Jace wanted to believe her—God knew he did. But how could he when the words coming out of her mouth sounded so obligatory? When despite everything, she just seemed so…vacant?

"Tell me what you're feeling," Jace said, cupping her cheeks in both hands, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. "I don't care about me. Tell me what I can do to help _you_."

Her eyes were glazed, unseeing, as they bored into Jace's. "I don't know," Clary whispered, averting her gaze from his before shutting her eyes. "Everything hurts." Her face scrunched up into a tight grimace, as if the effort of focusing on the now was giving her a terrible migraine.

"Do you want me to call Magnus?" he asked, holding her closer to him.

Clary shook her head. "Stay with me. Just hold me." She gripped his shirt tightly before burying her face into his chest.

In between the staggering silence, Jace could hear another unspoken request—'_Just give me time'_, and an even stronger plea, '_Don't leave me.'_

"I won't leave. I promise, sweetheart." He kissed the top of her head, listening intently to the sound of her breathing as she slowly drifted off into a restless sleep.

_The nightmares would come again that night, but Jace promised that he would be there to fight them off, to be the arms that held his wife no matter what._

* * *

Jace hooked his arm underneath Clary's knees while the other supported her by her back, cradling her tiny body to his chest tightly, carefully, as if he were afraid that she would break. She had both arms wrapped around his neck, her head resting on his shoulder and her emerald green eyes shut in exhaustion.

It had been an entire week since Jon's funeral and in all that time, Clary had barely moved, spoken, or eaten. She'd lie in bed every day in Jace's arms, never once leaving them unless she had to use the bathroom, and even then she'd always needed his help. More often than not, she would answer Jace's questions with monosyllabic responses, and would only eat when Jace held a spoon to her mouth and fed her himself.

Jace frowned. She was light, _so light_ in his arms, that the newly-crowned king had to suppress the urge to crush her tighter to him, fearful that she would just float away like a feather, away from his reach.

_King_. The word was still so foreign to Jace, but that was exactly what he was now: the king of both Idris and Alicante. He was no longer just responsible of taking care of his wife, but the millions of others under his rule. And Clary was no longer just a princess but a queen. _His queen._

As they entered the bathroom, Jace gingerly placed her on her feet next to the sink. Clary stumbled a little, her balance still rocky due to the lack of standing or walking on her own, and Jace quickly reached his arms out to steady her.

"Here, sweetheart. Just hold onto me," he told her as he helped her to remove the thin nightgown from her body.

Usually, Clary would have shied away and blushed in modesty or embarrassment when her body was bared to her husband, but since everything that had transpired, she'd barely even cared about how she looked like in front of him—or at least, she couldn't even be bothered to have a reaction anymore.

'_Jace deserves so much better than me,' _she thought sadly as she looked down at her pasty, sickly-looking skin.

Inwardly, a deep sense of regret flooded her, at how much of a burden she was being to Jace but the feeling was quickly gone, replaced by numbness.

"My beautiful girl, I love you so much," Jace said, his words inadvertently bringing warmth to Clary's stale heart.

That was why she loved him so much, Clary realized. He was so patient, so understanding of her. Despite how much she knew she'd driven him crazy, he never blamed her or pushed her to act the way a proper, sane person should. He only offered her gentle, compassionate words and touches filled with affection and love.

"I'm sorry," Clary said in a raspy voice. "I'm sorry I can't be a better wife for you."

"Shh, sweetheart. Don't apologize. Nothing's changed. You're the only one I want; I don't want you to think of yourself as anything less." Jace smiled. "I'm here, and I'm always going to be here. You're my family and no matter what happens, I'll always choose you."

Jace planted a soft kiss on her lips before picking her up in his arms again, this time helping her into the bathtub.

As her body met the warm, lavender-scented water, Clary let out a contented sigh—a reaction that was rare from her due to recent events—that Jace couldn't help but smile a little again.

He reached for the soap-soaked sponge before slowly lathering it on her body—starting from her neck, to her arms, then her chest and her back and everywhere else; there was nothing sexual about his touch—just soothing—that Clary slowly started to relax a little more, leaning her head against the rim of the bathtub with a small smile on her lips.

"Mmm…" she purred as Jace began to slowly massage her shoulders, his touch, as always, careful and loving.

"That's my girl," he murmured, planting a tender kiss at her sensitive spot, just beneath her ear. "I love you, Clarissa Herondale."

Clary sighed again, and for the first time in days, she guided Jace's face to hers, her lips meeting his in a soft, sweet, and loving kiss. Her lips felt slightly chapped and dry, but Jace smiled into the kiss anyway, feeling hope reignite in him from the small gesture that his wife had initiated for the first time in days, the act that told him that she still loved him, that she still acknowledged him as her husband, her lover and her partner.

"I love you too, Jace." The words that left her mouth were quiet but sincere—words that Jace had been starving to hear from her lips and immediately eased the weight off of his chest.

He felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked into his wife's eyes, and without waiting for an invitation, he met her lips again—_hungrily, passionately_—without reservations and without chains. He lifted her up in his arms, breaking their kiss only momentarily to dry her off with a towel. And then they were locked in a starved, passionate embrace again, laughing and giggling into each other's mouths.

As Jace fell on top of Clary on their bed, their bodies pressed tightly against each other, she wrapped her arms around him, bringing him as closely as possible to her. "Take me, Jace. I _need_ you—_Take me…_" she breathed against his lips.

"I love you," he murmured against her cheek as he thrust his hips forward, eliciting pleasured moans from both of them as their bodies became one.

_They weren't fixed, but they weren't completely broken either. They still had each other, and that was all they both needed to hold on to_—_the _hope_ that they would be the ones to mend each other, to be each other's strength in the darkness._

* * *

"Magnus!" Jace leapt forward, unthinkingly grabbing the doctor by the lapels of his expensive, bedazzled coat. "Clary—Is she okay? What's wrong with her? What do I have to do to help her? Tell me Magnus—I'll do anything. I promise—"

Jace's words were cut off by a loud resounding slap, one delivered by the flamboyant doctor himself. "Jace, get a grip of yourself. And remove your paws off of my coat!" Magnus growled.

Immediately complying with the doctor's orders, Jace released his grasp from the latter's coat before taking a step backwards. "Clary—"

"Is fine," Magnus answered. "She's resting. As she should be."

"She's _fine_?" Jace returned in a cynical tone, his golden eyes beginning to glint with a look of anger. "What do you mean by 'she's fine'? Don't lie to me, Magnus. She's been sick every morning, she keeps complaining of headaches and backaches, and Lord knows what else—And you're telling me that she's _fine_?"

Magnus rolled his eyes at the former gladiator's short temper. "Yes, Jace. That is exactly what I'm saying," he said monotonously.

"What aren't you telling me?" Jace roared.

Magnus sighed again, completely unfazed by the young king's sharp attitude. "I think that is something you should ask your wife…in fact, she explicitly requested that I keep it a secret from you because she wants to tell you about it herself," Magnus said.

Jace glared at the doctor who looked back at him with a completely bored and unbothered expression. "Go on. Your wife is waiting for you—Shoo!" Magnus waved his hand dismissively at Jace's face.

Growling, Jace turned away from Magnus before making his way into the bedroom, his previously hot temper now muted, morphed into complete worry and fear.

As he saw Clary sitting up in bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her face buried in her hands, Jace felt his heartbeat pick up in a frantic pace. "Clary, sweetheart—What's wrong, my love?" he asked in a worried tone.

When Clary refused to look up at him, Jace gathered her in his arms, his own body shaking with silent sobs. "Clary, tell me," he pleaded, his voice beginning to crack. "Tell me. I promise I won't leave you no matter what." He buried his face into her fiery red hair, a muffled sob unconsciously leaving him at the thought that Clary was possibly dying, that she was leaving him, too.

Then, to his surprise, Clary let out a giggle, a genuinely happy one that sent tingles down Jace's spine. "Oh, Jace…my sweet Jace. Don't cry," she cooed at him as she cupped his cheeks, her thumbs gently wiping away the tears that had unwittingly trickled down his face. Her voice was light, airy, as if she couldn't control her own state of rapture. _But why was she sounding so happy?_

Jace sniffled as he looked up to meet Clary's gaze. She had tears staining her now-rosy cheeks, but her emerald green eyes were bright—brighter than he had seen in a long time. In fact, the only time he'd seen her this _happy_ was on the night of their wedding, when they were officially declared each other's better halves.

But the question that remained was…_why? _Why was she so happy that she was sick? Was it because she was delighted over the fact that her sickness might result in her reuniting with her brother and mother sooner than expected?

Jace clasped his hands over Clary's smaller ones before bringing it up to his lips, more tears spilling down his cheeks. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave me."

Clary giggled again and Jace nearly wanted to scream at her for making fun of his misery. Didn't she know how much he needed her? Didn't she know how much it pained him to even consider the possibility of losing her forever?

As if sensing her husband's oncoming panic attack, Clary pulled his face towards hers, meeting his lips in a hard, long kiss. He returned the kiss feverishly, desperately, as if he was pleading with her through the kiss to not leave him—as if he was kissing her for the _last_ time.

When they pulled away, Clary held his face tightly in between her delicate palms, caressing his bottom lip with her thumb tenderly when she saw it tremble. "Jace, I'm not leaving you," she said firmly, her green eyes fierce, as if forcing him to believe her.

"But…b-but you've been sick," Jace croaked.

"Honey, I'm not sick," Clary replied in a gentle tone, like she was talking to a child rather than her twenty-year-old husband. She inwardly smiled at the reference. _Child._

"Jace," Clary began, holding his gaze intensely. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes and she took another deep breath before speaking.

"Jace, I'm pregnant."

The words that came out of her mouth were hushed but Clary was fairly certain her husband heard them. His mouth fell open in surprise, and his golden eyes widened, staring at her in disbelief.

"P-pregnant?" he said, as if asking his wife what the word meant.

Rolling her eyes at him, Clary decided to tease him. "Preg-nant," she repeated slowly, enunciating the syllables in the word. "You know, when a man and woman make love with each other—"

"I know what 'pregnant' means," Jace snapped, not intentionally trying to sound rude. He still had a confused look on his face, as if he was still trying hard to grasp the news.

Clary smiled as she saw him open and close his mouth a couple more times, the gesture indicating that he was still thinking hard about what to say. Then finally, he reached his hand out and placed it on top of her flat stomach, a look of complete awe on his face.

"Pregnant," he breathed softly, as if he was still trying to convince himself. Clary didn't miss the warmth and affection in his tone; neither did she miss the glistening in his golden eyes as he tried to rein in his tears.

Clary placed her own hand on top of Jace's, a wider smile on her face. "Yes. You're going to be a father, Jace," she told him.

"Baby. My baby. _Our_ baby," he murmured with such adoration in his voice. He looked up at Clary with tears in his eyes before enveloping her in a sweet kiss, one that conveyed everything he felt in that moment: gratefulness, happiness, disbelief and above all, love.

When they pulled away, Clary lied down on her back, partially propping her head up with her elbow. Jace laid his head on top of his wife's stomach, a wide smile on his face. He wrapped his arms around her torso and rested his hand on top her abdomen, just below her belly button.

"I love you," he whispered as Clary gently kneaded her fingers through his curls, the familiar gesture soothing enough that Jace's eyes began to slowly flutter shut.

"Thank you," was the last thing Clary heard before she felt Jace's soft lips press against the nightgown covering her stomach and they both fell into the most peaceful sleep they'd had in years.

* * *

**A/N:**

Gah! There you have it!

More outtakes/one-shots to come! I have one planned with J.C. in it, but it'll be a while before I put that one up, methinks. Review what you guys would like to read about, and I'll do my best to write it.

On another note, don't you guys just love how sweet of a husband Jace is? He's a dreamboat...so perfect...I mean, the guy even gives his wife sponge baths! Sigh...Clary is living the good life...if only life has its Jaces, the world would be so perfect;) Well, this is it. Please remember to leave me a review on what you think;)

XO!

~N


	26. Clace Outtakes: Pre-Epilogue Part 2

**Author's Note:**

Hello my beautiful darlings!:) I'm back with another outtake, and yes, it's definitely a lot longer than the previous one.

Again, this outtake takes place before the epilogue, and it picks up about three months after the last outtake, so yeah. Read on to find out what it's about...

Shoutouts to Guest, Artdrunky, Islandgirl4evR, AddyHerondale, NewmanYHC, Raven, FluffyFluffLover, Stelle's Pen, Sosebo, DamphiricAngel2014, TwilightMortal, Bridalmask2000, Jcdbunny, iLoveMeSomeCaptainAmerica, Jling, Married to an Herondale, Toolazytologin and Arelia Miles! Thank you all for your reviews! They made me smile so much; you guys are the reason I feel motivated to write, so thank you!;)

**Disclaimer:** Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

Jace stared hard at himself in the mirror, a feeling of deep self-consciousness settling over him. The sight of his current reflection was a foreign one, so much so that he felt as if he was looking at another man—and definitely not in a remotely comfortable way either.

Truthfully, anyone who saw him would probably think otherwise. He looked dashing, resplendent even, in his royal get-up—a polished, _dangerous-looking_ black armor suit trimmed with gold—one that had been customized specially for him. The _King_ of both Idris and Alicante.

Jace sighed. Nothing about his current appearance merited any complaints; he certainly looked dressed for the part.

But even still, he couldn't help but feel…_peculiar_ about the way he looked. Was it too gaudy? Ostentatious? _Pretentious?_

"Don't you look handsome?"

Jace swirled around gracefully at the sound of the woman's tinkling voice, slightly taken aback, only to be met with his wife's soft, admiring emerald green gaze.

His golden eyes widened fractionally at the sight of her, and his jaw fell open, forcing him to do a double take.

Clary stood before him in a shimmering, long-sleeved golden gown made of pure silk—the customary color of royalty in Idris. It was fairly simple, with a sweetheart neckline and a sequined bodice that accentuated her minimal curves, while the skirt was flowy, falling nicely over her growing, round belly.

Jace paused, letting his eyes linger a couple seconds longer on her stomach. In their most recent check-up with Magnus, they'd found out that Clary was well about 18 weeks along with their child; she'd begun showing about a week after they first found out that they were expecting, and due to her small stature, her baby bump was actually much more pronounced that most women in her stage of pregnancy.

Clary took a couple more leisurely-paced steps towards her awe-struck husband, her delicate fingers casually tucking a stray curl of hair behind her ear. She slowly smiled up at him when they were just a mere few inches apart, her hands reaching up to smoothen the collar of the white starched shirt that he wore beneath his armor suit.

Jace gulped when he felt her smooth fingers ghosting the skin on his neck, igniting an insatiable desire in the pit of his stomach.

Slowly regaining his composure, he felt his own fingers itching to touch her _hair_, wanting more than anything to remove the sparkly pins that were holding up his wife's beautiful red tresses in that intricate up-do.

He couldn't help it; it was just a natural habit of his. _He always preferred it when she wore her hair down._ But considering the prominence of the event that they were both attending, Jace decided to ignore the itch—just this _once_.

"Hmm…you look simply…_debonair_," she purred in what sounded like a French accent.

"And you look beautiful," Jace returned in a smooth, velvety voice, his golden eyes darkened minutely as he continued to eye his wife appreciatively.

As quickly as a smile had formed on his lips, it vanished, only to be replaced by a tiny frown. Jace furrowed his eyebrows, a look of complete self-frustration on his face. He couldn't quite explain it but the word 'beautiful' suddenly seemed so inadequate, almost too meager of an adjective to describe the way Clary looked.

If anything, she was mesmerizing_._ Breathtaking. Enthralling. And best of all, she was all _his._

Jace repressed the urge to sigh again. If only they didn't have his 'crowning ceremony' to attend to; he would much rather spend an entire day in bed with his wife—with much, _much_ less clothing on, of course—than to grace a public occasion where he would be forced to mingle around with his subjects—

Not that he thought of them as petty or any less important, that is. He acknowledged his responsibilities as a king and was more than obliging to serve his people, but he never really saw the point of a public crowning ceremony just for the sake of a 'show', or for the people to pay homage to him.

After all, he'd already _had_ a coronation ceremony—_three months ago_. It had been carried out under more private circumstances—in honor and respect of Jonathan's recent passing—but since then, it had already become public knowledge that he, Jace Herondale, was the official ruler of both Idris and Alicante.

Just three days after Sebastian and Valentine had been buried, and Jonathan's funeral had ended, Jace had gathered with the officials from both countries—the Consuls, Inquisitors and politicians alike—to discuss the affairs of both kingdoms and come to an adjudication on who should next serve as the monarch, seeing as both kingdoms had been left without an heir.

It had been a fairly long and arduous meeting, and while there had been several concerns and disputes, they'd managed to resolve them on the grounds of rationality and reason. And in the end, a peaceful consensus was reached—one that entitled Jace to ascend the throne as the rightful king and rule Idris and Alicante under one united government, as it was supposed to be.

So within the course of the same day, they'd held an official coronation in the throne room in Idris, with the officials acting as witnesses as Jace took up the royal vows. Jace remembered how terribly odd he'd felt during the ceremony itself, the heavy burden that weighed down on his chest when reciting his oaths, knowing how big of a responsibility he would have to shoulder as a king. At that moment, he was thankful for all the hardships he'd gone through in his life; at least he'd been able to keep his insecurities hidden behind a cool façade then.

But, that was _then._ What if he were to stumble and slip up at the ceremony _later_? What if the people were to see him as inexperienced and incompetent, and were to revolt against his rule? What _then_?

"Jace, love, what are you thinking about?" Clary asked, entangling her fingers into his golden mass of curls when she noticed that he was deep in his thoughts.

Jace returned his gaze to his wife, his golden eyes softening. "Everything, actually," he admitted vaguely. "But mostly, I was recalling about the whole coronation ceremony I already had three months ago." He dropped his eye contact with his wife, not wanting her to see that there was actually much more to his confession than he wanted her to believe.

"Ah, I see." Clary nodded in partial understanding. "So you feel that this whole ceremony is completely trivial and unnecessary, and that you, my fair King, would rather spend this day in bed with your beloved wife?" She smirked, ever accurate about what her husband was thinking.

"Exactly," Jace replied in a heartbeat, an amusingly serious expression on his face.

"Plus," he looked down at his suit, the beginnings of discomfort showing on his face, "I have an aversion for dressing up. Especially if it's just for the sake of appearances. I just—I don't want to look like Sir Pompous." He scrunched his nose in disgust, an adorable pout on his face.

Clary giggled at him. "You don't look like Sir Pompous. I'm not even sure if such a person even exists."

"Don't laugh at me, Clary," he admonished her before dropping his head to her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her waist before tugging her closer to him, as much as her round stomach would allow.

"I already feel my frail ego diminishing at the thought of meeting all these people dressed up like this 'thing' that I'm not," Jace groaned. "Why can't I just wear a normal shirt? The last thing I want is for the people to think that I'm a showy bastard like Valentine or Sebastian. What if they think that I'm already beginning to abuse my powers as the king? What if they hate me—"

"Jace, I love you, but please, for the love of God, shut up," Clary interrupted, her tone a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

Jace looked up at her, golden eyes drawn with anxiety, and she cupped his face with her small hands, her thumbs stroking his cheekbones comfortingly.

"Honey," Clary said in a gentler tone, "The reason why we're having this ceremony is not for you to show off—It's for you to make a statement as their _king_, and for you to show them that you're trustworthy and capable of running a kingdom." She smiled, "Or in this case, _two_ kingdoms."

Another look of grim worry passed over Jace's face as he listened to Clary, her words having a double-edged sword effect on him. While they had been comforting, somewhat, they too had unintentionally sparked an unwelcome reminder of his earlier insecurities.

"And don't worry about them, Jace," Clary said, once again completely aware of his thoughts. "You've been a good king so far. You've accomplished much more in these short three months as king than Valentine had ever done in eight years," she said earnestly, stroking the planes of his strong cheekbones.

"Besides," Clary shrugged, "you've already done them a huge favor when you got rid of the two biggest tyrants in the history of all kings. If anything, they should be grateful you're their king. I know I am," she said.

Jace nodded, smiling at Clary's reassuring words. It wasn't often that he showed his vulnerabilities to her—least of all, since Jonathan's death. He'd mostly kept his self-doubts to himself because he hadn't wanted to stress Clary out, especially now that she was pregnant with their first child. But Jace didn't regret baring his soul to her now; she always had a way of putting his fears at ease and make him feel infinitely stronger than he really was. He loved that about their relationship, how they'd always been able to balance each other out and make each other stronger.

Then, of course, Jace's confidence was short-lived as he glanced down at his armor suit, the source of his discomfort in the first place. "I hate wearing this," he muttered.

"I know," Clary said. "If it helps, I've always hated dressing up, too. But it's just for these ceremonies. You can wear whatever you want on any other day, but just this once, you need _this_," she touched his armor, "to make a royal first impression."

When Jace said nothing, Clary titled her head to the side, her red-painted lips curling up in a wide grin. "Smile. You look handsome," she told him.

Jace sighed resignedly before looking into Clary's green eyes. "Okay, I trust you."

"Good," she replied simply.

"Can I kiss you now?" Jace asked, an expectant look on his face.

Clary opened her mouth to speak, presumably—or rather, Jace _assumed_—to give him her consent, but before she even got the chance to, he bent down slightly, attempting to capture her rosy red lips with his. He was just less than an inch away from his target when Clary abruptly pulled back, covering his mouth with her hand.

Jace let out a frustrated noise at her rejection, mock hurt playing on his face. "You're really killing me, Clary," he mumbled against her hand.

Clary nodded. "I know. But Izzy would kill me if I smear my lipstick," she told him bluntly, causing Jace to let out an exasperated groan.

"You're denying me because you're afraid of Isabelle?" he asked her in disbelief.

"I'm sorry if you feel betrayed," Clary said, a negotiating look in her green eyes, "But I _promise_ if you make it through the ceremony without a single complaint, I'll let you have your way with me later. Deal?" Clary offered him her hand but instead of taking it, Jace ducked his head and planted a chaste kiss on her left cheek.

"Deal," he murmured against her cheekbone.

Clary shuddered, pleasured by the feeling of Jace's lips against her skin. "Stop that," she chided him, trying in vain to pull away from his embrace.

Enjoying the effect that he had on his wife, Jace, of course, didn't let her.

"We still have five more minutes," he said cheekily. "Besides, I think that my being the guest-of-honor permits us to be _fashionably_ late."

Clary clucked her tongue disapprovingly at Jace's statement but otherwise didn't argue with him.

Smiling triumphantly, Jace kissed his wife on the forehead, all the while moving his hands across her silk-covered belly. His golden eyes lit up in wonderment as he watched his hands explore the expanse of her stomach, reminding Clary of how much of an endearingly curious, innocent little boy he could be sometimes.

"So beautiful," he murmured as he cupped the base of her stomach, his golden eyes twinkling as they locked with Clary's emerald green ones.

"Sap," she teased him. "Your charm is flattering and definitely appreciated, but I know better, Jace Herondale. You can stop trying to make me feel better about myself," Clary said. Though her tone was joking, Jace could detect an underlying bitterness in her words, as if there was something genuinely bothering her.

He gave her a questioning look, silently asking her to explain her statement.

Averting her eyes from him, Clary shrugged, looking dejected all of a sudden. "I look like a _cow_," she whispered.

Jace gently tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. His gaze was soft as he kissed her nose. "No, you don't," he said, lips brushing against the skin of her cheeks, her jaw, then the skin behind her ear.

"Yes, I do," Clary insisted, trying to push Jace away from her.

Smiling, he tightened his grip on her, planting lingering, open-mouth kisses on her neck and collarbone. "No…"

"Yes," Clary argued.

"No…"

"Y-yes—" Clary's voice wavered and she moaned softly when Jace nipped at her collarbone.

"Hmm…_yes_," he said coyly without halting his ministrations.

"Uhh…" Clary whimpered behind closed eyelids. "_N-no…_"

She felt Jace grinning widely against her skin and her green eyes flew open, realization flooding through her over what her husband had been doing—buttering her up with teasing kisses to distract her before tricking her into denying her earlier statement.

"You tricked me!" she exclaimed, though she sounded more amused than annoyed.

Jace smiled triumphantly back at her, hands now caressing the sides of her belly. "That was the plan all along," he answered unapologetically. "And just so you know, I meant every word I said. You're beautiful. And absolutely perfect for me." He smiled at her.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Jace. I think you're blind."

"Love makes us all blind," he said casually. At the back of his mind, Jace wondered where Clary's sudden insecurity came from. It was ironic how the tables had turned so quickly, just when _she_ had reassured _him_ that he looked fine.

"And liars, too, apparently," Clary muttered sulkily.

Jace shook his head, smiling a little confoundedly at his wife. "I don't understand how any of it matters though. Most girls wouldn't even question it when a man compliments them—least of all a man as stunningly attractive as I am." He gestured to himself arrogantly.

Rolling her eyes, Clary snorted at him. "I don't know what it was that attracted me to your royal _fatheaded-ness_. And for the record, I'm not most girls," she pointed out.

"I know," Jace said. "It's why I chose you. It's why I still choose you." He pressed his lips firmly to her forehead, making her sigh contentedly.

Withholding her tongue from making another comment, Clary wrapped her arms around Jace's neck. "Mmm, I love you, Jace."

"I love you too, my sweetheart." He pulled Clary into his arms, though his hands remained stroking the curves of her swelling stomach, wandering over the roundness of it with a look of adoration on his face.

Jace smiled, almost out of pure instinct; he loved touching Clary's stomach. It reminded him that he was going to be a father—a fact, a _blessing_, that he never took for granted since the moment he found out.

Admittedly, it might be a little strange considering his past, but Jace was ready to look beyond that. It wasn't as if he didn't have a good childhood growing up, anyway. Both his parents had loved him, doted on him—and when his child was born, he hoped to do the same.

Just then, Jace was brought out of his thoughts by the feeling of a soft flutter beneath his right palm.

He looked up at Clary, eyebrows furrowed pensively, as if silently questioning her with his eyes to affirm whether he'd imagined the 'flutter' or not.

Her green eyes were brighter than usual as she smiled back at him. "Did you feel that, too?" Clary asked in a hopeful tone.

Jace nodded and she placed her smaller hand on top of his, guiding it left side of her stomach where she'd felt their baby, presumably, 'kick' her. On cue, they both felt another flutter, a stronger one at that, and they both let out an almost disbelieving laugh in unison.

"I definitely felt _that_," Jace chuckled before slowly kneeling down in front of his wife.

"I've been feeling the baby kick for sometime now," Clary said, rubbing the top of her stomach affectionately. "I just have never really thought much of it. I didn't think _you_ would be able to feel it this soon."

"Well, I'm glad I got to feel _him_ kick," Jace said.

"Daddy's little prince," he murmured lovingly against Clary's stomach when he felt their baby give another kick.

"_Or_ princess," Clary corrected him.

Jace looked up at his wife, a smirk in his golden eyes. "Oh, it's definitely a boy," he returned smugly. "I just know it."

Clary rolled her eyes at him, mildly irritated by her husband's cockiness. "Oh? Do tell, dear husband, how you came to such an ingenious conclusion," she said in a sarcastic tone.

"Father's intuition." He shrugged before returning his attention to his wife's stomach. "I'm fairly certain our baby agrees with me," he murmured in a much softer tone.

Clary opened her mouth to retort when Jace spoke up again.

"Besides," he drawled, "that felt like a _boy's_ kick." He raised an eyebrow at the redhead arrogantly, as if daring her to challenge him.

"Interesting theory you have there—As always, of course," Clary patted his head mockingly, "How would _you_ know how a boy's kicks feel like, considering that prior to this, you've never even felt a baby kick before?"

Clary narrowed her eyes at Jace further, scrutinizing him. "Unless," she growled, catching Jace by the ear and painfully twisting it, "you've been going around touching other pregnant women's stomachs and feeling their babies kick?"

"Clarissa Herondale!" Jace exclaimed with wide golden eyes, immediately standing upright with both hands raised in front of him. "How you could insinuate such a _twisted_ notion is beyond me! I would never, ever, _ever_, whether with curious intentions or not, go around touching other women's stomachs! Never!"

"You—" Clary's words were quickly cut off by the sound of a vicious knocking on their bedroom door.

_"Clary? Jace! For the love of God, you two better not be having sex with each other in there! I took hours doing your hair and makeup, Clary!"_ Isabelle's voice resounded from behind the door.

Unexpectedly, Jace scrambled to the door and hastily pulled it open to reveal a flustered-looking Isabelle. She was dressed in a velvet red dress, her raven hair pulled into a tight bun.

"Thank God," Jace breathed, eliciting a puzzled look from both Isabelle and his wife.

"What was that?" Clary asked, eyes narrowed at his uncharacteristic behavior. Usually, Jace would have told Isabelle to go away and mind her own business but this time, he just looked genuinely relieved and happy to see her.

"Nothing, sweetheart," Jace quickly replied, still mindful to keep his distance from his wife. "It's just—Our five minutes are up. We don't want to keep the people waiting. Wouldn't want them to get a bad impression of us and all…Heh," he chuckled nervously whilst attempting to scratch the back of his neck.

Isabelle snorted. "What did you do to make your wife angry this time, Jace?" she asked, abundantly amused by his reaction.

It was rare for anyone to see Jace, the former reputable gladiator, act so flustered. So far, the only other occasions Isabelle had ever been fortunate enough to witness Jace look so ruffled was when Clary was mad at him. She could hardly blame him though; Clary was pretty scary when she was angry…and pregnant.

"He's been going around touching other pregnant women's stomachs," Clary answered for him, her arms crossed over her chest as she continued to glower at her husband.

"That's not true—"

"What?" Isabelle cut in, her brown eyes wide in shock as she stared at Jace.

"It's not true!" Jace snapped defensively, looking increasingly agitated. "She's overreacting," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Clary, who scoffed at him in return.

"Stop denying it, Jace," Clary retorted.

Isabelle looked at the exchange between the couple with unabashed mirth. "Oh, Jace," she chuckled, not sounding in the least bit sympathetic of him for having to face Clary's wrath.

Jace glared at the raven-haired girl. "Don't. Don't encourage her," he growled.

"All right, then," Izzy snorted. "I shall leave you two to it, to resolve your…" she waved her hand in a careless manner, "…_marital disputes_ on your own. Good luck, Jace." Izzy winked at him before taking her leave, noticeably a lot more cheerful than before. In fact, Jace could have sworn he even saw her skipping.

He shook his head, ridding himself of the image. Sighing, he turned around slowly, only to have his heart almost leap out of his chest in surprise when he found Clary standing directly behind him, both hands planted firmly on her hips. He shuddered internally at the withering look that she was giving him.

"C-Clary," Jace gulped, "My beautiful a-angel, uh, _wife_, I—umm," he stammered nervously, when all of a sudden, she burst out laughing hysterically, even going as far as to lean on him for support.

Confused, he frowned at her. "Clary?" he asked in a hesitant tone.

"I can't believe you fell for that!" she snorted out in between fits of laughter. "Oh, Jace…you're just…so…gullible!"

Jace growled. "You're so lucky you're pregnant," he muttered in a disgruntled tone.

Grinning at him, Clary finally straightened herself before pulling him in for a short hug. "I know you'd never betray me like that, Jace," she said, patting his cheek affectionately.

Jace's glare immediately softened and he leaned down, seemingly to kiss Clary when she cheekily took a step back, before skipping out of the bedroom with a giggle—or rather, _sidling_ out of the room, considering she couldn't actually skip with her baby bump in the way.

Jace stared open-mouthed at his wife—not for the first time—before shaking his head and following after her with a smile.

* * *

"May I present their royal Highnesses, the rulers of Idris and Alicante—King Jace, accompanied by his wife, Queen Clarissa!"

The people cheered loudly as Jace and Clary stepped into the grand ballroom of the Idrisian palace, large smiles gracing their faces as they welcomed their newest king and queen.

Though nervous, the couple immediately reciprocated the gesture, Jace even making the effort to wave and greet some of the people as they passed by the eagerly awaiting crowd.

The ballroom was extremely crowded, more so than on previous other occasions that Valentine had held celebrations there, that Clary felt slightly claustrophobic. She gripped Jace's arm tighter, her free hand cradling her stomach protectively as if she was afraid that being in a crowd this large could potentially harm her baby.

"You okay?" Jace asked her in a discreetly worried tone as he held her closer to him.

"Fine," Clary returned shortly, squeezing his arm lightly to reassure him.

"If you feel sick or uncomfortable, just tell me, okay? I don't want you or the baby to get stressed just because of a big social gathering," Jace said, and Clary quickly squeezed his arm again in affirmation.

They made it through the crowd at a purposely leisurely pace, acknowledging the people every once in a while with practiced goodwill. Unlike previous royal occasions, the crowd consisted of not merely just the affluent nobles in Idris and Alicante, but even those from the lower classes—people that haughty kings like Valentine would have easily labeled as 'peasants' and 'commoners'.

That was all going to change today, Clary thought. Gone would be the days where the poor were exploited and oppressed simply because there were people who saw the need to distinguish themselves from others based on their fortunes. Jace was a different king, a different man entirely—he was exactly what the people needed to lead them out of their misery that her father had entrapped them in.

When the couple finally reached the dais where their thrones were situated, Patrick Penhallow—former Consul turned royal advisor—greeted them both with a warm smile.

"Your Highnesses," he addressed them both formally, even despite Jace's frequent insistence that Patrick were to call him by his first name instead. "We've been anxiously anticipating your arrival for quite some time now," he said good-naturedly.

"Our apologies, Patrick," Jace replied. "We had a little issue with our wardrobe," he said in a playful jibe before smirking.

Patrick chuckled. "No matter." He waved away the apology with a smile. "You're here now so we should probably get started," he said, signaling to the group of trumpeters who were positioned on either sides of the dais.

Just as Clary and Jace sat themselves down on their respective thrones, the royal fanfare was blown, signifying to the crowd that the official ceremony was about to commence.

On cue, the religious leader of Idris, Father Jeremiah, stepped forward, both hands clasped in front of him as he walked towards the king and queen. He was accompanied by two other men, presumably from the brotherhood, who each carried a royal crown in their hands.

Jace smiled as he recognized one of the two men to be Father Zachariah, the man who had officiated his wedding with Clary. The latter smiled back at him as he stood on Jace's right, while the other—Father Enoch—stood on Clary's left.

Father Jeremiah halted in the center of the dais, just between the seated couple. He gave Jace a nod, silently asking him if he was ready, and Jace returned the nod confidently.

On the bright side of things, at least he didn't have to re-recite his monarchial vows, Jace thought, turning his head slightly to look at Clary. He smiled when he realized that she was already looking at him, a nervous smile on her lips.

Jace reached out and gave her hand a slight squeeze, which she returned promptly, her hand shaking slightly.

"I love you," he mouthed to her, and Clary parroted the words back to him with a playful roll of her eyes.

"People of Idris and Alicante," Father Jeremiah began in a gravelly voice, both arms raised as he addressed the crowd. "On this day, we witness the public crowning of the King and Queen of Idris and Alicante, Jace Herondale and his wife, Clarissa Adele Herondale."

At his words, the two younger priests moved, gently placing the crowns on their heads. Jace let out a breath when he felt the unfamiliar weight on his head but otherwise kept his golden eyes steeled forward onto the crowd.

"May God guide them in their duties as the rulers of our two fair kingdoms, so that they may be just and compassionate in their services to the people," Father Jeremiah said. "All hail the King and Queen."

"All hail the King and Queen!" the people chanted in unison before exploding in a rousing applause, loud cheers and whistles resonating across the ballroom.

Jace smiled gratefully at them in return before taking Clary's hand in his and slowly rising from his throne. He felt his heart racing, beating more erratically and rapidly than ever before.

"Breathe, Jace." He heard Clary whisper encouragingly to him, and he took in several deep breaths before looking back at the expectant crowd.

With the hand that wasn't clutching Clary's, Jace gave the crowd an awkward wave. "Hello," he started, chuckling nervously that Clary had to fight the urge to facepalm herself in exasperation.

Silence fell over the people and Jace cleared his throat, wishing that the earth would open up and swallow him whole. He wanted to say, _I hope you'll be able to excuse me, I'm fairly new to this_, but he was afraid that Clary would strangle him on the spot if he did. So instead of randomly vomiting out words, he searched his mind, hoping that a better, sound alternative would come to him.

Several moments passed and he felt Clary squeezing his hand tighter, giving him enough of an indication that he was taking too long and should probably start talking right about _now._

Internally sweating bullets, Jace offered the crowd a smile. "I'd like to begin by thanking everyone here for your presence, and for warmly welcoming me as the new king," he said, his tone, _thankfully_, not giving away how nervous he was feeling.

"I will admit, I may not have had as adequate a training as most kings before me. My father as you all know him, Stephen Herondale, had trained me in my younger years, but due to the circumstances that had plagued Idris, I'd never actually made it far enough to complete my training as his successor."

Jace paused, eyes slightly glazed over as he recalled the years that had led up to this moment, the years that had ultimately defined him into the man that he was today. It was never easy for anyone to talk about their past, least of all, one that was riddled with so much pain and anguish. But Jace knew, if he was ever going to win his people's trust, he needed to be brave. And most of all, he needed to be honest and speak from his heart—not as a man who saw himself above others, but as a man who could empathize with the people; a man who, rather than saw the need for others to serve him, would be willing to serve them instead.

So clutching Clary's hand tighter in his, Jace pushed on. "In the short 20 years of my life, I've seen and lived through things that most would probably be fortunate enough to only hear in passing," he said. "At the age of 11, I lost both my mother and father, and then, shortly after, I was forced into a life of slavery where I was trained, essentially, to be a gladiator."

Jace paused, seeing the look of admiration on the people's faces upon the mention of his gladiator life, and instantly, he felt his throat tighten. _How could the people still hold the games in high regard even after witnessing firsthand how damaging and cruel it can be?_ "I can see how many of you would think that of it as an honor to serve in the arena as a gladiator. But I'm here to tell you that it's _not_," he said sternly.

"There is no glory in taking another's life for the sake of a sport. A gladiator's life is anything but a luxury; I scraped through life, merely to survive, never really knowing which day would be my last. I'd had to endure many painful obstacles, and experience firsthand rulers who can be cruel—some more than others." He cringed, remembering the torture he'd been put through by Valentine and Sebastian.

"If there's one thing that I learnt from my time as a gladiator, it's that no one deserves to be mistreated or to be deprived of their right to live amongst others as equals. Slave or not, there is little to no value in treating a person as any lesser just because of his social status, and therefore, as your king, that is one of the few things that I wish to change here in both Idris and Alicante." At this, the people, who had thus far been hanging on to Jace's every word, cheered loudly, some even shedding tears as the young king poured out his soul to them.

Jace smiled at the support, and he turned to look at Clary, only to find her already looking at him with pride shining in her emerald green eyes. "I may not know much about being a king," he said, "but I promise, that for as long as you'll have me on this throne, I will serve each and everyone of you to the best of my ability. And hopefully, with your support, and with the guidance of my counselors and my wife, we'll be able to achieve so much more than what our predecessors have given us."

And with that, Jace turned to Clary, brushing his lips over the knuckles of her hand tenderly. "To one united Idris and Alicante!" he declared, raising his fist in the air.

"To one united Idris and Alicante!" the people chanted in similar fashion before the ballroom was drowned in an even louder burst of cheers.

* * *

"Oh my God," Jace breathed as he slumped into his throne. "I—I think I'm going to have a heart attack. Clary—Help. I think I might need you to give me a mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," he said heavily.

Clary rolled at her eyes at her husband. "Don't be so dramatic, Jace. You did fine," she said. "Besides…don't you think your entire effort would just go to waste if you were to suddenly collapse in front of everyone?"

"I feel faint," he continued, as if Clary hadn't spoken a thing.

"Suit yourself," his wife replied.

"But—"

"Your Highnesses," Patrick interrupted the couple, "If you don't mind, we would like for you to lead in the first dance. It is customary in Idris, after all, for the new king and queen to lead their people in a dance."

Jace straightened himself up before clearing his throat. "Yes, of course, Patrick," he answered smoothly, reaffirming Clary of his theatrics earlier.

"Come, sweetheart," he said, offering his arm to his wife.

Rolling her eyes, Clary took it before following Jace into the center of the ballroom where they were expected to lead in the first dance.

She let out a shaky breath as Jace guided her to face him, one of his hands placed on her waist and the other clasped in her own. Slowly, she placed her other hand on his shoulder before casting a brief uneasy look at him.

"I'm terrible at dancing," she admitted in a hushed tone.

"It's okay," Jace said, rubbing circles onto her hand with his thumb.

Clary looked up at him, hopefully for a little motivation, but instead, Jace just smirked at her arrogantly. "I'm not."

Before Clary even got the chance to chastise him for his haughtiness, Jace began to move, leading her in a slow, but dauntingly-paced enough dance.

Clary gasped and looked down at her feet, trying with all her might to not trample over Jace's boots. This, of course, proved to be an even more challenging task with her being pregnant—She could barely see her feet over her stomach!

"Clary," Jace said, causing her emerald green orbs to jerk back to his golden ones. "Keep your beautiful green eyes on mine. Don't think. Just move with me," he told her.

Surprisingly, Clary obeyed him, her green eyes never once straying from his. And even more surprisingly, the method was working. She was dancing, _really dancing_, without tripping over her own two feet!

Jon would be so proud when he finds out, Clary thought, remembering how her older brother used to be her dance partner back when they were both younger. Despite Jon's patience and constant encouragement, they could never go through a minute of dancing without Clary stepping on his feet at least five times. In fact—

"Why are you smiling?" Jace interrupted her thoughts with an amused smile of his own. "Are you imagining what I would do to you in bed later?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, causing Clary to scrunch her nose at him in disapproval.

"Don't be so crass, Jace!" she chided him.

"Come on, then." He smirked. "Tell me what's on your mind," he pressed her.

Clary sighed before letting a small smile ghost her lips. "I was remembering this one time I stomped on Jon's foot so hard during dance class that he ended up with a bad fracture—not that it was completely my fault, of course. He knew I was an incompetent dancer and yet he chose to dance barefoot even though I was wearing a pair of heels," she laughed, seemingly oblivious of _who_ she was talking about.

Jace, on the other hand, was stunned into silence; he hadn't expected Clary to speak of her dead brother so _soon_—not when he knew that she was still having a hard time accepting his death. The only reason she had been 'fine', or have been coping at all, was because they'd merely chose to avoid speaking about her brother.

As if finally realizing what she'd said, a sorrowful look overtook Clary's face and she shut her eyes as if in pain. "I forget sometimes…I forget that he's gone," she said in a strained voice.

"Is it bad that I forget, Jace?" she asked him.

"No, sweetheart, of course not," Jace soothed her. "I don't blame you. It's just…easier to forget sometimes. It helps to take away the pain, even if only a little."

"I hate myself for doing it though," Clary said. "I feel so selfish."

"You're human. We're all selfish in some ways," Jace said. "Don't punish yourself just because you need more time to come to terms with everything."

Clary bit her lip thoughtfully before nodding in comprehension of her husband's words. Jace was right, she knew that. His words didn't necessarily ease her guilt or made her feel better about herself, but essentially, he was right about her needing more time.

"Jace?"

"Yeah?" he asked, a little warily.

"This is our _first_ dance," she told him with a wide grin, their past conversation forgotten.

Jace smiled back at her. "I know, love. I know," he said before proceeding to spin her in an elegant twirl. Clary giggled at the unexpectedness of the movement and she stumbled, only to be caught in his strong arms again.

Her arms now draped around Jace's neck, she looked up into her husband's mesmerizing golden eyes before fitting her lips against his—a soft, gentle kiss that lasted only a couple of seconds.

Jace brushed his lips against her temple, a soft smile on his face as he murmured, "The first of many more to come."

* * *

**A/N:**

Woo-yes. "The first of many more to come"...Well, technically, this isn't the first outtake, but you can definitely take Jace's word that there will be **more** outtakes to come.

I think I took about 20 hours combined just to write this one outtake, and several days to write each chapter previously, cos I'm really just that sloooow...and OCD. Mostly OCD. But anyway, I really admire writers who can write really fast! It's not easy to write 1K words even...I'll admit that.

Special thanks to **DamphiricAngel2014** for suggesting a scene where Clary and Jace get to feel their baby kick for the first time...That's gotta be my favorite scene in this entire outtake...especially when Clary accused Jace of going around touching other women's stomachs! I got inspired to write that when I was lying in bed, about to fall asleep. Annoying how I always get ideas for writing when I'm about to sleep...which results in me getting lack of sleep because I'll start imagining the scene instead of focusing on sleeping. *Sigh*

Also, another special thanks to **FluffyFluffLover**, and also **Arelia Miles**, I believe, for having suggested a scene of Jace's crowning ceremony. I hope I did okay with that scene. It was particularly hard to write because I didn't really know what to write for Jace's speech. (Heh, don't you like how he nervously started with a "Hello" + awkward wave? Only _this_ Jace would do that.)

Anyway, I know technically Jace was supposed to kneel down in front of Father Jeremiah on the dais instead of being seated, but as mentioned, he already went through his official coronation once to confirm his monarchy...so, this public crowning is more like a proper and formal introduction for him as the king.

Well, leave me your thoughts and suggestions of any more outtakes or one-shots that you would like to read about! I mean, hey, if you guys want a sexy Clace moment, too, I wouldn't be opposed to writing that... *Winks*

XOXO!

~N


	27. Clace Outtakes: Pre-Epilogue Part 3

**Author's Note:**

Hi guys! It's been a while, but I am back with another outtake~

Shoutout to Artdrunky, Sosebo, lindsayhonaker, DamphiricAngel2014, FluffyFluffLover, TwilightMortal, Married to an Herondale, divfan96, Islandgirl4evR, Jcdbunny, AthenaLesage and Arelia Miles! Hugs and kisses to all you guys for your reviews:) And to all of you lovelies who are still following Redemption, well, I hope you guys enjoy this outtake!

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

"Tell me again why I agreed to this," Alec groaned for possibly the twentieth time in the last two minutes.

"I mean, when I said 'brotherly bonding time', I meant sparring or just talking. I didn't mean us waking up at the crack of dawn and travelling to every single market in Idris and Alicante just so we can look for mangoes for your pregnant wife!"

Jace rolled his eyes at his _parabatai_, feeling increasingly irritated by the latter's persistent complaints.

"Honestly, Alexander, if you hadn't wanted to come with me, you didn't have to, you know. You're not bound to me in any way so you're free to do as you please," Jace snapped at him without even bothering to turn around.

Truthfully, Jace understood where Alec was coming from; he was beyond annoyed and exhausted too, but he wasn't about to give up on his mission and come home to Clary empty-handed—even if the sun was already beginning to set and the stalls in the markets would be closing soon for the night.

Passing a tired hand over his face, Jace sighed. Three months ago, finding mangoes would have been an easy task, but because it wasn't exactly the mango season _now_, they were an exceptionally rare find—even in countries as big as Idris and Alicante combined. Jace could easily vouch for that statement; Alec hadn't exactly been exaggerating, after all. They'd been travelling to over eight different markets in the last twelve hours just literally scouring for those mangoes.

Bringing Wayfarer to a standstill, Jace expertly dismounted the horse before rubbing the side of the latter's neck affectionately. Grabbing the reins, he then led Wayfarer to the corral just outside the market, where two other horses were currently situated.

"Stay here," Jace said, almost unnecessarily, eliciting an amused yet acquiescent neigh from the brown steed.

_'__Stupid. It isn't as if the bloody horse can go anywhere,'_ his tired mind remarked.

Stretching his arms over his head, Jace then began to head into the market, ignoring the ache in his back—and practically everywhere else—from the long hours of riding and walking that he'd been doing in the past twelve hours. All for the sake of wanting to fulfill his wife's cravings for mangoes.

Oh, mangoes... Jace could certainly feel a sense of loathing for them now—a feeling he never thought he would ever acquire for them. Growing up, he had always loved mangoes; now, they were just plain _torture_.

To be fair, Clary hadn't specifically demanded that he get her her craved fruit. The further along she got in her pregnancy—she was close to eight months along now—the more she tended to be sweeter and gentler to Jace, an obvious sign of her maternal instincts kicking in early. She hadn't done so much as to demand anything from him, except for their routinely cuddles and kisses, which Jace was truly grateful for, given his extra duties as king.

Letting out a yawn, Jace felt his eyelids beginning to slowly droop…only to widen again moments later when he stubbed the toe of his boot particularly hard against a stone and very nearly tripped.

_'__Stay awake! It's for the baby. Do it for the baby, Jace,'_ he chided himself. The last thing he needed was to get into an accident and pass out in a market—a good four _bloody_ hours away from home.

As he came to a stop in front of one of the fruit stalls, his golden eyes scanned the myriad of colorful selection, hoping to high heavens that he would be blessed enough to find the yellowish-orange, oblong-shaped fruit—_not_ that he had high hopes or anything.

After facing failure after failure today, his hopes were already at a minimum. If he failed again, he would just have to continue his search tomorrow, Jace decided, albeit sadly. His poor wife and child, he thought, stifling another yawn.

Just when he was about to admit defeat, the _very thing_ he had been looking for caught his eye.

Blinking furiously, Jace stared harder at the fruit that was supposedly hidden amongst the peaches, willing for the sight before him to be real and not another one of his fatigue-induced hallucinations.

And much to his utter surprise, he saw not one, but _four_ mangoes! _Four!_ A true miracle!

"Give me those mangoes, please," Jace said to the stall vendor whilst simultaneously pointing to the mangoes, an almost crazed expression on his face.

The vendor gave him a strange look before recognition of his customer's identity finally settled in. "Why, of course, Your Majesty," the young boy answered him sheepishly before dutifully packing the mangoes into a brown paper bag.

Not bothering to ask him how much the mangoes cost, Jace eagerly shoved twenty silver shillings into the brown-haired boy's hand, feeling unbelievably generous due to his success of finally obtaining the damned fruit.

_'__Thank you, God.'_ He breathed a sigh of relief before turning around to leave the market, the bag of mangoes now clutched possessively against his chest.

Several passers-by gave him queer looks but Jace paid them no heed; though the very childish part of him wanted nothing more than for him to stick his tongue out at them and shove the bag of mangoes in their faces and scream 'HA-HA', Jace was fairly certain that he had a lot more dignity and maturity than to do that—regardless of Clary's incessant remarks of how much a child he really was. But he digressed. The fact of the matter was, he _finally_ had those mangoes.

Upon reaching the corral, Jace was surprised to find Alec there, sitting astride his own horse, clearly waiting for him. He had an apologetic look on his face, though the moment his cerulean-blue eyes landed on the brown bag that Jace was hugging, his expression completely changed to suit one of astonishment.

"You found _them_?" Alec asked in an incredulous tone, still eyeing the paper bag with disbelief.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did," Jace answered proudly while puffing out his chest. Grabbing the empty leather satchel hanging from Wayfarer's saddle, he carefully stuffed the bag of mangoes into it before slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"See? I told you this wouldn't be _fruitless_—no pun intended there, of course, Alec," Jace remarked smugly, former traces of his exhaustion now gone. He mounted his horse before leading them away from the town, back home to where his beloved wife was, without a doubt, anxiously waiting for his return.

"I still can't believe you actually managed to find them," Alec muttered after a while.

They were both riding at a more leisurely pace now, their horses galloping beside each other. Though Jace was noticeably more relaxed, he kept glancing down at his satchel every now and then to make sure that the mangoes were still intact.

"I _know_," Jace answered, the arrogance still apparent in his voice. "It must be because I'm so amazing," he boasted, causing Alec to roll his eyes.

"Tell me again _why_ you're my best friend," the blue-eyed boy said with a shake of his head.

A sly smirk crossed Jace's lips. "I just did, if you had actually bothered to pay close attention," he answered, referring to his earlier self-proclamation of just how 'amazing' he was—as if it was the universal answer to every question.

Alec let out a disgruntled noise. "Whatever, Jace," he groused. "I hope your child doesn't turn out like you in any way. The world _certainly_ does not need another Jace, regardless of what you and every other woman believe."

Jace snorted. "Admit it. You're just jealous of me," he quipped in a sing-song manner before childishly sticking his tongue out at his _parabatai_.

"I'm perfectly content with my own life, thanks," Alec scoffed.

"You keep telling yourself that," Jace said, nodding his head mockingly. "Maybe one day you'll actually learn to believe it."

Alec opened his mouth to retort when Jace cut him off again, a wider, self-satisfied grin on his face. "And to rebut your earlier statement, every man, woman _and_ child would be blessed to have a mini-me running around!" he exclaimed loudly, both arms thrown carelessly in the air as if he were making an announcement to an audience—but of course, there were no one else but the two of them around, unless they counted the horses, (both of which probably couldn't give two fucks about their humanly conversation unless they were being offered food).

Alec rolled his eyes again. "You keep telling yourself that; maybe one day you'll actually learn to believe it," he parroted Jace's words back to him, eliciting another smirk from the blonde-haired boy, though he made no attempts to say anything else.

The two friends rode in companionable silence for a while, finding peace as the night began to slowly fall over the kingdom. As they finally exited the borders of Alicante and into the vast stretch of green forest interconnecting the two lands, Alec began to speak again.

"So...how's it like, the feeling of being a father?" he asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

Jace turned to look at his friend, a small smile ghosting his lips. "I don't really know, to be honest," he said, looking away. "It's rather…confusing at times."

"Confusing?" Alec raised an eyebrow at him.

Jace shrugged. "I'm happy, mostly," he said. "In fact, I'm the happiest I've ever been. I never thought I'd ever have a future more perfect than this. This…feeling that I'm going to be a father, I've never been more grateful for it…"

"But?" Alec interrupted, looking at Jace more intently.

The young, golden-haired king suddenly stiffened; he had his eyes shut tightly, and he was gripping the reins so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were white.

"I'm afraid that something might go wrong during the childbirth," Jace whispered, as if he hadn't meant for Alec to hear it. "I'm afraid that I might not just lose the baby, but Clary too." His voice wavered and his golden eyes began to glisten with unshed tears.

"Why would you even think of that, Jace?" Alec frowned at him, inwardly startled by the sudden shift in mood. Of all things, he hadn't expected Jace to say..._that._

"And don't tell me you don't want to talk about it," he quickly interjected before Jace could brush him off. "We're _brothers_—you don't have to hide these things from me."

Jace made a choked noise before swallowing deeply, pushing down the lump that was forming in his throat. He wanted to tell Alec 'NO', that it wasn't any of the latter's business. But instead, the words left him before he could even stop them. "Because nothing lasts forever—least of all, my own happiness," he said in a hoarse voice. "Every time I'm happy, something goes wrong. It's been that way since Valentine—"

Jace broke off, rubbing away at the tears that had unwittingly spilled down his cheeks. No matter how much time has passed since the chaos with Valentine had ended, Jace couldn't deny the scars that still afflicted him, that despite how much he had healed, there was a part of him, no matter how small, that was still wounded—and would forever be.

No one could ever truly let go of his past, and for Jace, no matter how much Clary's love had changed him for the better, a small part of him would forever remain dubious of their happiness. How long would _that_ last before something were to go wrong again? Before he would lose _her_ too?

"I've never been more afraid than I am now," Jace reluctantly admitted, his chest heaving slightly with emotion. "At least back when I was still a gladiator, I had nothing to lose—It was _just_ me. But now I have Clary and a baby on the way, I know I can't afford to lose either of them—not when they mean everything to me. I want to be able to protect my family, _always_, but even I know that in certain circumstances, I can't control everything. I can't control if something goes wrong and they _die_—" Jace choked on the word and Alec decided that he'd heard enough.

"Stop right there, Jace," Alec said in a stern voice. "Stop tormenting yourself with stupid fears of what-ifs—"

"I'm trying to be _realistic_ here, Alec," Jace cut in, bristling at Alec's scolding tone. "I know what it's like to be disappointed, and to be frank, I'm done with playing the naïve, hopeful boy who believes in the illusion that happiness lasts forever."

Alec scoffed. "No, you're preparing yourself for a future that might not even happen."

"What the fucking hell is the difference?" Jace retaliated with a sharp tug on the reins, causing Wayfarer to come to a sudden whinnying halt. He glared at Alec, anger on clear display in the protruding veins on his neck.

"You're being stupid and paranoid," Alec pointed out, casting a withering look at the seething young king. "For once in your life, just stop questioning the good things as they come. The more you worry about things that might not even happen, the more you're going to live in a twisted life of fear. And then what? You're going to start to lose yourself and you're going to worry Clary—and that's more likely to be the reason for something to go wrong with her pregnancy, Jace. _Nothing else._"

Alec's words sent a sharp flinch rocking through Jace's body; they felt like a slap to his face but despite how much it stung, Jace knew how much he'd needed someone to say those exact words to him, to restore the 'sense' that had slowly been slipping away from him.

"I'm sorry," he finally said before turning away, spurring Wayfarer into a slow, half-hearted trot. "I didn't mean to act like an ass. I'm _trying_—I really am," he whispered, his tone heavy with anguish and desperation.

"I know," Alec returned, the concern and understanding visible in his blue eyes. "I won't make empty promises and tell you that everything's going to be okay. But think of it as this—You've made it this far, Jace. You've fought for your happiness, for Clary. Don't be so quick to give up just because your future is uncertain—because that's how it's always going to be. The best thing we can always do is just to live in the moment, don't you think so?"

Jace sighed before nodding in a deferential manner. One look at him at Alec could tell how much he wanted them to just let go of the subject, that more than anything, he was craving to be with Clary, the only person who could ever be convincing enough to reassure him and make him feel better.

"Let's just," Jace started, scrambling his mind for words. "Let's just go home before these mangoes spoil," he finally decided, pulling the hood of his riding cloak over his head as the first sign of rain began to make its appearance.

Without so much as a noncommittal noise in response, Alec allowed silence to settle over them once more, the journey home feeling a tad heavier than in the morning when they'd first set off.

* * *

"Jace Herondale, where on earth have you been?" Clary screeched the moment Jace entered their bedroom.

Jace cringed at the sight of his angry wife. She was dressed in a thin white nightgown, her right hand cradling the distended curve of her belly. In the dim lighting of their bedroom, her fiery red hair—which hung in loose waves over her shoulders—looked like actual flames ready to consume him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart—"

"Do you have any idea how long you've been gone? You didn't even leave so much as a vague note saying that you were out with Alec, and even then, you said that you'd be home by sundown! I have been worried sick about you!" Clary continued, oblivious of her husband's attempts to get her to calm down.

"Clary," Jace called her name sternly, causing her to halt midway in her rant to look at him, her emerald green eyes drawn with inexplicable worry when she realized how soaking wet he was, the rainwater dripping from the tips of his hair to the ends of his feet.

"I'm sorry," Jace said again, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. Clary flinched at the coldness of his hand and Jace quickly retracted it to his side.

"I'm sorry," he repeated before fumbling into the satchel for the brown paper bag that held his wife's cravings, hoping that it would make a good peace offering.

"I went out with Alec to look for these," he explained, peeling a little at the paper bag to reveal the mangoes.

Clary's eyes widened at the sight of them and she pressed her hand against Jace's cheek albeit the numbing coldness she felt from the contact. "Oh Jace, you didn't have to, you know," she murmured, a look of extreme contrite washing over her.

"I know," he returned, his voice equally soft—the way it usually sounded when it was just the two of them. "But I wanted to. I know you've told me before that you don't expect me to get you everything that you want, but I just...I couldn't help it. I just felt guilty for not getting _these_," he said, holding up the mangoes.

"I know how much you've been craving for them." Jace lifted an amused eyebrow, remembering how only yesterday he'd snuck a look into one of Clary's sketchbooks—without her knowledge, of course—only to find the most recent pages of it littered with multiple drawings of ripe, juicy-looking mangoes.

"You're an amazing husband, you know that?" Clary smiled widely at him before accepting the bag of mangoes from his hands.

Jace gave her a lopsided grin in return, prompting an amused eyeroll from his wife.

"You're still not forgiven for giving me a scare, you know." She mock-glared at him, attempting to both look and sound intimidating.

Jace, as arrogant as he was, at least had the decency to keep his mouth shut for once, instead opting to give her a sheepish smile.

Clary sighed. "No more going on expeditions with Alec, Jace—I mean it. Not unless you're _at least_ accompanied by a reasonable number of guards."

She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to protest.

"It's not that I don't trust you, or that I'm trying to be controlling over you," Clary quickly added. "I know that you're more than capable of taking care of yourself, but..." she trailed off, looking more than just flustered. "But—I love you, Jace. You're my family, and God forbid but—I don't want to risk anything bad happening to you. _Please_—If you won't do it for me, at least do it for our baby." Her hand trailed down to cup the pronounced swell of her stomach and Jace felt his heart squeeze.

He nodded and placed his hand on top of hers. "I promise," he said, tilting her chin up slightly before kissing her. There was nothing rushed or intense about their kiss—just sweet—and Jace relished in every second of it, aware of how much _he_ had been _craving_ for his wife's lips—her taste, her scent, her touch, her _everything_.

"Go, take a shower," Clary told him gently when they broke away from their passionate embrace. "I'll go cut these mangoes up and get some dinner for you. And then we can share them," she said, gesturing to the mangoes.

"Okay," Jace said, pressing a soft, chaste kiss on her cheek, before obediently entering the bathroom for a quick shower.

* * *

Clary awoke hours later to the feeling of numbing coldness. She shivered, listening to the rampant pitter-patter of the heavy downpour outside, and winced when a particularly loud thunderclap boomed, igniting a series of nervous heart palpitations in her chest.

_How Clary hated thunderstorms._

"Jace," she whispered, patting her hand against the spot where Jace usually slept...only to find it cold and empty.

Opening her eyes, Clary slowly sat up, rubbing her hand against her stomach, where she felt her baby performing a series of restless twists and somersaults. "Jace?" she called into the darkness of the room.

Lightning flashed again, accompanied by an even louder rumble of thunder, and Clary winced again, clutching the blankets tightly against her chest. "Jace!" she called, louder this time.

Whimpering, she rolled out of bed before waddling quickly towards the bathroom, hoping, _perhaps_, that her husband would be there.

She pushed open the door—it had been left slightly ajar—to find Jace slumped against the toilet bowl, a shivering mess.

"Jace," Clary whispered worriedly, trying to walk as quickly as she could towards her husband.

Holding onto rim of the sink with one hand, while the other continued to cradle the bottom of her round stomach, she lowered herself onto her knees next to him.

"Oh, honey," she murmured, trying to steer Jace into an upright sitting position, his head resting against her shoulder.

"Clary?" he rasped in a hoarse, scratchy voice. "Where are we?" he asked, his golden eyes squinted as he weakly glanced around the dimly-lit bathroom.

Clary wrapped an arm around his torso, and her nose scrunched up in disgust when she realized that there was a lingering putrid smell of vomit in the air—no doubt Jace's. And though his body was bathed in cold sweat, he was burning hot, _feverish_.

"Clary," Jace muttered before abruptly recoiling from her. "You shouldn't be in here. I don't want you to get sick." On cue, he lurched forward, head poised over the toilet bowl and began to retch loudly.

Clary turned slightly green and she pinched her nose with her fingers to block out the rancid stench. But instead of leaving the bathroom, she stayed on her knees behind her husband, her free hand running up and down his back soothingly.

"Clary," Jace groaned upon finishing, his body still convulsing slightly from all the heaving. "Sweetheart, please, you need to leave," he tried to dismiss her.

"No," Clary answered firmly, reaching forward to flush down the contents of his vomit.

She slowly hauled herself off of the floor and retrieved a glass of water for Jace, holding the mouth of the glass against his dried lips when his hands proved too shaky to be able to hold the glass himself.

"Thank you," Jace croaked when he'd drained the glass whole, a slight color returning to his otherwise pallid face.

"You're welcome," Clary muttered, worry still etched onto her face.

"So…you're sick," she deadpanned after a while, not really sure what to say.

Jace gave her a weak smirk. "No. I'm pretty sure that's just the morning sickness kicking in late," he joked as he rubbed his hand over her belly.

Clary chuckled. "Always a joker, aren't you?"

"Of course," Jace said. "Can't have my wife worrying too much over me, can I?"

Clary sighed. "Of course I worry about you, Jace," she said, frowning again. "You shouldn't have spent the whole day out looking for mangoes for me. Did you even rest and eat at all then? And then the rain," she muttered anxiously.

"Sorry," Jace said, hating that he was burdening his wife.

"It's not your fault." She brushed him off. "I'm going to go draw you a warm bath—Maybe you'll feel better after," she told him before setting off to prepare his bath.

As soon as she was certain that the water was lukewarm—neither too hot nor too cold—she helped to undress her husband before leading him into the bathtub; the task proved to be slightly more difficult considering that Jace was much larger and heavier than she was—coupled with the fact that she was pregnant—but with much patience and co-operation from his part, she managed to accomplish the arduous task nonetheless.

Once Jace had settled comfortably in the bathtub, Clary sat herself down on a stool and reached for a sponge to properly wash him, the act feeling slightly ironic, and yet, at the same time, _reminiscent_ in its own way. She smiled, remembering all the times how Jace, being the devoted husband that he was—and still _is_—would spend at least twice a week giving her baths.

It was, as he often told her, one of his small ways of pampering her, and to show her how much he loved her—not that Clary hadn't been convinced enough. Jace had never given her a reason to doubt the magnitude of his love for her; she only hoped that she could show him just how much she loved him, too.

As she gently scrubbed him, Jace rested his head against her stomach, humming a melodic tune to their baby until the little _mango_'s—that was the most recent nickname the couple had given their baby in light of Clary's cravings—sporadic kicks eventually lulled.

They emerged from the bathroom about 20 minutes later, Jace's body feeling slightly less warm than before, his arm draped over Clary's shoulders and a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

Once he'd been carefully seated on the bed, Clary left the room momentarily to make him some ginger tea, knowing it to be an effective remedy for fevers.

When she returned to their bedroom, she found Jace shirtless and clothed in a pair of black pajama bottoms. Though instead of lying on the bed as she had previously _explicitly_ instructed him to do, he was now lying on the floor with a pillow and measly blanket acting as a mattress of sorts.

"Jace," Clary growled before gently placing the cup of ginger tea on the bedside table. "What are you doing on the _floor_?" she asked, making a point to enunciate every word in the sentence.

"I'm sick," he deadpanned, mirroring Clary's words from earlier.

"Really? That totally answers my question," Clary replied in an ever sarcastic tone.

"Bed. _Now_." She pointed to the bed sternly, as if she were scolding a child.

"No," Jace replied petulantly before burying his face under his pillow and turning over to lie on his stomach.

"Jace Herondale," Clary raised her voice, "Get your chiseled butt off of the floor and into the bed. NOW!"

"I don't want to," Jace replied, ever stubborn.

"JACE!"

"Clary, there is no way in hell I'm sleeping on the bed and risking getting you and the baby sick," he snapped.

"Well, there is no way in hell I'm letting you sleep on the floor in your condition," Clary said in between gritted teeth. "If you're hell-bent on not sleeping on the same bed as me, then fine, _I'll_ take the floor; _you_ take the bed."

Immediately, Jace sat up and glared at his wife. "What condition?" he asked her angrily. "I'm sick, you're pregnant. If anything, _you_ shouldn't be sleeping on the floor in _your_ condition."

"The floor's probably dusty. I don't want you to get any worse than you already are," Clary said, arms folded across her chest as she, too, glared at him.

"Well, sweetheart," Jace crooned sardonically. "If the floor's dusty, we might need to have a serious talk with the maids since they're obviously not doing their jobs very well."

"Fine!" Clary shrieked, throwing a pillow at Jace's face with so much force that he bumped his head against the bed rail. "Sleep on the floor for all I care!" she said, frustrated tears leaking past her emerald green eyes.

She stomped on the blanket Jace was currently seated on and whacked him once more on the head with another pillow, muttering angry curses at him before stretching out on their bed. "Good night! I hope the bed bugs bite you all over and drain you of your blood!"

Holding one of the pillows against his chest, Jace stared at his wife's fuming form; she was lying on her side, her back turned to him—_obviously_.

Jace let out a silent sigh, feeling an oncoming pounding headache. Maybe he should just sleep on the bed, he contemplated, not wanting to go to sleep knowing that his wife was angry at him. She was carrying his child, after all; what if she went into early labor because she was too mad at him?

Rubbing at his temples, Jace hesitantly dragged himself up from the floor and reclined on their bed, cautiously moving his arm to wrap it around Clary. Before he could touch her though, she roughly slapped his arm away, apparently still angry at him.

"Why are you on _my_ bed?" she asked in a seething tone. "I thought you wanted to sleep on the floor."

Jace opened his mouth to speak when she cut in—_again._

"Drink your tea before it gets cold," she commanded, pointing to the bedside table without turning around to face him.

Sighing in defeat, Jace did as he was told—or at least, he _tried_ to.

The moment the tea entered his mouth, he started to splutter and cough wildly, shooting tea all over the bedsheets.

Immediately, Clary sat up and faced him, once again turning into the role of the worried wife. She patted his back, anxiously asking him what was wrong.

After a fitful round of coughing, Jace took in a deep breath and placed the tea on the bedside table, his golden eyes watery. "I hate ginger tea," he uttered hoarsely before slumping tiredly into his pillow.

Clary's mouth fell agape at her husband's confession, having initially thought that there was a more serious issue than him simply hating the tea.

As Jace's eyes were about to flutter shut, he saw a flash of white, and before he could register what was happening, he felt the sharp smack of a pillow against his face.

* * *

**A/N:**

If the ending evolved into a pillow fight match between a sick Jace and a pregnant Clary, I think it's pretty obvious who would win...;) And mangoes...ah, J.C. is Jace's son all right...wanting to eat mangoes even as a foetus...

Anyways... Special shoutout to **FluffyFluffLover** for suggesting a brotherly bonding moment between Alec and Jace. It wasn't an entirely happy scene between the two because obviously, being the person that I am, what's a chapter without a little downer? Thus far, we've only seen Jace react happily to Clary's pregnancy (which knowing all the shit he's been through, it would be a little unrealistic if he only has one emotion throughout the pregnancy)...Jace has always been a strong but vulnerable character so it goes without saying that he would have doubts and insecurities. Plus, I think it only made sense for him to open up to Alec about the fears that he's been keeping to himself since they're not exactly something he would ever confide in Clary...

To** DamphiricAngel2014**, thank you, love! I'll definitely take your suggestions into consideration for future one-shots! I just wanna take the time to finish writing pre-epilogue outtakes first before moving on to when J.C. is around because I wanna do things in chronological order...

And as for you guys who wanna see a sexy Clace moment, it will come in due time;)

For now though, please leave your thoughts on this outtake:)

p.s. I know. The story's set in the 1700s but I made the bathroom seem a little modern, huh? But yeah, this is fanfic, so I hope you guys were able to excuse that minor detail and...suspend the disbelief;)

XOXO~

N


	28. Clace Outtakes: Post-Epilogue Part 1

**Author's Note:**

Hello, darling readers... What's this? Another outtake?

Yes...yes, it is...

Shoutout to CMLangdon, hufflepuffamity, toolazytologin, Sosebo, Married to an Herondale, DamphiricAngel2014, FluffyFluffLover, Islandgirl4evR, TwilightMortal, Aubrey Kelly and Jling! I know I say this a lot, but I really do love you guys so much! Thanks for the continued support; and to everyone else who is still following Redemption, hugs and kisses to you guys, too!

Just a heads-up! This outtake takes place **after **the epilogue...so yeah, look out for little J.C.!

**Disclaimer: **Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

Jace stared at Clary's face as she slept, smiling as his fingertips brushed over each one of her delicate features—her eyebrows, her closed eyelids, her button nose, her cheekbones—then lingering a couple seconds longer on her mouth, tracing the shape of her soft, pink lips.

He bit down on his own bottom lip; he wanted to kiss her so damn much, to meld his lips against hers, to share his breaths with her, to have her gasp his name in pleasure. But instead, he held back, pressing his lips against her forehead as a compromise.

_Tomorrow_, Jace decided, tucking a stray auburn curl behind her ear. For now, Clary deserved the rest. After all, she'd been through a lot in the last two hours, bringing their child into the world—a remarkable but taxing feat on its own.

As the thought of his newest family member entered his mind, a wider smile crossed Jace's lips. He glanced over Clary's shoulder to peer at the ivory crib where his newborn son was lying in—soundly asleep, just like his mother.

Slowly disentangling himself from his wife, Jace got up from the bed and padded towards his son's crib; he'd moved it into their bedroom from the nursery shortly after J.C.'s arrival, his obvious self-reasoning being that he didn't want their newborn to sleep in a separate room just yet. Although, a deeper explanation for such wasn't so much as for the sake of convenience when needing to tend to the baby, but rather due to Jace's own fear that something horrible might happen to his son as a result of his lack of supervision—or in his mind, 'negligence'.

Resting his palms against the wooden frame of the crib, Jace smiled down at his sleeping son—the tiny creation that was both his and Clary's—and heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the tiny boy's chest rising and falling with each soft breath he took, his full lips—which Jace recognized to be his own—slightly parted as he quietly snored.

He was so beautiful, Jace thought. A miracle of life in his own way.

While the newborn's conception was unplanned, he had never been in any way unwanted or unloved. Jace's only fear during the pregnancy stemmed from his knowledge of the risks that he knew Clary—like every other expecting mother—would have to face during childbirth.

More than anything, he'd been afraid that he would lose both his wife and child before he even got the chance to properly experience life with them; that he would be condemned to a life of loneliness and desolation.

But that all changed when Clary squeezed his hand tightly for the final push and his son let out his first cry as he entered the world; Jace had never felt more relieved and grateful then. And now, after nine long months, it felt so surreal to finally be able to look at his son and touch him, hold him and _love_ him.

He was _real_, albeit tiny, a real person nonetheless.

Jace smoothed his large, calloused hand over his son's stomach, resting his fingertips over his strong heartbeat. It really awed him how incredibly frail and tiny the newborn was; Jace's hand practically covered the entire length of his torso.

"My boy," Jace murmured as he gently caressed the newborn's chubby cheek. It filled him with unending love and pride to be able to acknowledge with his own eyes that his son was _his_—he and Clary made this perfect little creature.

"Daddy loves you so much…I promise I'll always protect you and your mother. You have my word," he said as he molded his index finger around his son's tiny fist.

As if acknowledging that he'd heard his father's promise, the newborn curled his fingers tighter around his father's finger and squeezed it, eliciting a low laugh from the young king.

Several moments passed in peaceful silence as Jace continued to admire his son, until Clary's tear-stricken voice suddenly filled the room.

Jace swiveled around, gently extricating his finger from his son's grasp, and turned his attention to his wife. She was still deep in sleep despite the tears now spilling past her closed eyelids, her right arm outstretched as if she was trying to reach for someone.

"Jon, please come back. Don't leave me. Jon…" Clary continued to murmur restlessly in her sleep.

"Clary…Clary, sweetheart, wake up," Jace whispered, gently shaking her by her shoulders. "Wake up, love…"

As if suddenly emerging from an ocean of turbulent waves, her emerald green eyes flew open and Clary sat up, gasping loudly, the thin fabric of her nightgown plastered to her sweaty back. Upon seeing her husband, she threw her arms around him and let out a muffled sob into his chest.

"It's okay…You're okay," Jace said before cooing sweet nothings into her ear, the same way he always did each time Clary would emerge from a nightmare, shaken and upset.

Inwardly, he was surprised that Clary had been dreaming of Jonathan; he knew that she hadn't dreamt of _him_ in a long time—not since they'd both been preoccupied with preparing for their baby's arrival in the past few months. And after their visit to Jon's grave earlier that day, just mere hours before Clary had gone into labor, Jace had believed she'd finally gotten her closure—she had seemed so much happier and at ease then. What had changed all that _now_? What had triggered her to dream of _him?_

After a while, Clary suddenly pulled back, her emerald green eyes wide with alarm as she stared down at her stomach; it was still swollen, though not as much as before. And although her memory was sketchy, the last thing she remembered was falling asleep with her newborn baby in her arms.

_Where was he?_

As she shakily touched her stomach, wondering apprehensively if her baby, too, had been nothing more than a dream—_that she might _still_ be pregnant_—Jace placed his hand over hers and gave her a reassuring smile.

"J.C.'s fine. He's asleep," he explained to her in a hushed tone. "Here." He tugged her hand lightly and jerked his head in the direction of their baby's crib.

The moment Clary spotted her baby's sleeping form, she calmed down a little and wrapped her arms around Jace again, a loud sigh of relief escaping her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jace asked, his tone cautious and wary.

Clary immediately stiffened but otherwise gave no answer to Jace's offer.

"Was it a nightmare?" he asked again in a softer tone as he rubbed her sweaty back, trying to soothe her into opening up to him.

"No," Clary croaked, barely shaking her head. "It wasn't."

"You," Jace started, fidgeting nervously with his fingers, "you were calling for Jon—"

"He was _here_," Clary cut in, sounding breathless all of a sudden. Her emerald green eyes were wide, as if they were imploring him to believe her.

Jace furrowed his eyebrows and gave her a confused look, not knowing what to make of her sudden statement. What did she mean by that? _He—was—here?_

"_Jon_ was here," Clary corrected herself, sounding a little more composed this time. "He was standing by our bed, looking down at J.C. in my arms and smiling—just smiling. He never spoke a word. He kissed our son once on the forehead, and then mine, and then he left. _He left_…and I can't help but think that it's for_ forever…" _Her voice wavered and a stray tear slipped down her cheek.

Jace pulled his wife into his arms again, feeling his own chest constrict at her recount. His entire life, Jace had never quite believed in the existence of 'ghosts', but he was fairly certain that the Jonathan in Clary's dream was no mere coincidence; that _he_ was indeed her brother's _spirit_ paying her a visit—and quite possibly for the first and last time ever. "You know that given the choice, he'd give anything to be here," he said, gently threading his fingers through her curls. "At least you got to see him one more time—even if it was only in a dream."

"I wish he could have held J.C. at least _once_," Clary whispered, her voice sounding muffled against his chest. "Our son will never even get the chance to meet the man he was named after."

"I know," Jace murmured back. "But _we're_ here, Clary. J.C. will always have us in his life. He'll never have to be afraid of Valentine or Sebastian, or the games—And it's all because of Jon. He's the reason our baby's safe."

Clary sniffled and Jace gently drew her chin up so that she was looking at him, his golden eyes bright with love and determination. "And just because Jon can't be here with us physically, it doesn't mean he can't be with us _here._" He placed one hand over Clary's heart, and the other over his own beating one.

"We'll tell J.C. stories about his uncle—about how much he meant to both of us—And we'll be okay. You'll see," Jace told her, pressing his lips firmly against her forehead.

"You're right," Clary sighed before planting a soft kiss on his bare chest, where his heart lay, beating as strong as always.

After a while, she felt the weight in her chest subside and the tension in her shoulders leave her. "I'm glad you're here with me, Jace," she murmured against his skin.

"Just glad?" Jace teased with a soft chuckle.

Clary grinned up at her husband. The truth was, she was definitely more than just glad that he was here with her; she couldn't imagine a life without him—and especially not one where she had to raise their son on her own. But alas, she didn't want to say it for the sake of inflating his already large ego.

Just as Clary opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted by the sound of her newborn son's soft cries.

The new parents turned their heads in the direction of their son's crib and smiled in unison.

Bracing her hands against the bed, Clary slowly pulled herself up to sit straighter, stifling a groan when she felt the prominent soreness in between her legs. She bit down on her bottom lip, a tight grimace on her face, and Jace's smile quickly dissipated into a worried frown.

"Clary?" He placed his hand on her shoulder, asking her if she was okay, and stubbornly, the redhead waved away her husband's concern.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It's nothing I haven't felt before," she said, a faking a smile in an attempt to conceal her obvious discomfort.

Jace rolled his eyes at his wife's all-too-familiar obstinate display and wordlessly grabbed his pillow to prop it up behind her back, before helping her into a more comfortable sitting position.

"I'll go get him," he said, kissing her once on the temple before eagerly making his way towards the crib.

Clary chuckled at Jace's enthusiasm and silently wondered how long it would last. She had no doubts that J.C. would start keeping them up at night more frequently in the days to come; Magnus had forewarned her of such. The question she was curious in finding the answer to was: Would Jace still be as eager to tend to their newborn once _he_ was sleep-deprived?

Grinning, Jace reached his hands down and slowly lifted the newborn into his arms, extra mindful to support his delicate head. The baby fit just nicely along the length of his forearm, and Jace cradled him snugly against his chest—as if the act was already second nature to him.

Upon settling himself on the bed once more, he passed the baby over Clary; the thin strap of her nightgown now hung loosely off her shoulder, exposing her breast. She carefully brought her son's head towards her chest and allowed him to latch onto her nipple, all the while cooing sweet words of love and affection to him.

Jace watched with the piqued interest of a first-time father as Clary nursed their son, and chuckled at the sound of his soft but enthusiastic suckling noises. A sudden fleeting thought crossed his mind and he decided to voice it aloud.

"What do you think breast milk tastes like?" he asked in a genuinely curious tone, his gaze shifting between Clary's eyes and her breast.

At his question, Clary flushed a deep shade of red and she angled herself away from him in a vain attempt to block his view of her breast.

"Don't you be getting any ideas, Jace Herondale," Clary chastised him. "I'm not about to let our baby starve just for the sake of fulfilling your curious whims."

Jace pouted. "Can't I at least have a sip?" he asked in a voice that oddly sounded a lot like a desperate two-year-old's.

"No!" Clary reproached him with a glare.

"But I'm thirsty," Jace whined.

"Jace!" Clary slapped his arm. "If you don't stop this perverted…_thing_ that you have going on, you're spending the night on the floor!"

At her threat, his bottom lip jutted out even further. "Well, you're no fun," he muttered in a begrudging tone before looking down at his lap.

Clary frowned at him. "Good God—Are you really going to sulk over this?" she asked in an exasperated tone.

Still refusing to look at her, Jace replied, "Well, if I can't suckle then I guess I'll just have to settle on sulking."

Clary rolled her eyes at him. "Nice try, Jace, but you're not going to guilt-trip me this easily," she said before returning her attention to her still-feeding son.

"Your daddy's a big baby," she cooed to her son, a small smile curving up her lips as the newborn looked up at her, his gold-flecked green eyes wide and innocent. "I hope you don't inherit his immaturity."

"Hey!" Jace exclaimed, in true puerile form.

"See?" Clary said, as if the newborn had the prodigious ability to comprehend his parents' inane banter. "This is exactly the kind of behavior you should avoid."

"'This is exactly the kind of behavior you should avoid,'" Jace mimicked in a high-pitched voice.

"You know you're not helping your case here, Jace," Clary told him as a matter-of-factly, a signature Herondale smirk etched onto her face.

Unable to stop his childish streak, Jace stuck his tongue out at his wife before stretching out on his stomach, his head propped up directly next to his son's face. The young boy's suckling motions were now noticeably slowing down, his gold-flecked green eyes droopy as his mother began to gently lull him to sleep.

Unable to help himself, Jace leaned forward and dropped a soft kiss on J.C.'s head, his golden eyes lit with complete wonderment at every single sound and movement—however minute—that the infant made.

"Mommy's a meanie," he muttered to his son, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the infinitesimal blonde curls lingering on the nape of the latter's neck.

With a long and drawn out yawn, J.C. finally unlatched from his mother, his lips parted in a delicate 'O' shape as he made a soft, satisfied noise.

Chuckling, Jace sat up as Clary readjusted the strap of her nightgown, and retrieved their son from her so that he could burp him.

After a few minutes of pacing and gently patting his son's back, Jace suddenly halted in his steps, his golden eyes wide with horror when he felt a sticky substance on his shoulder, where J.C.'s mouth was currently resting against.

He brought his son away from his chest, tilting his neck slightly so that he could eye his shoulder—and instantly groaned.

"_Jonathan—Christopher—Herondale_," Jace chided his son in an exasperated tone; the latter in question continued to slumber on peacefully, a look of pure innocence on his tiny face—as if he didn't just throw up on his father.

Clary snorted from her position on the bed and Jace immediately gave her a withering look.

"Oh, you think this is funny, don't you, Clarissa?" Jace demanded, his golden eyes barely straying from her emerald green ones as he placed their baby into his crib.

Clary shrugged in an attempt of nonchalance but instantly burst out giggling when she saw the vomit on her husband's shoulder.

"Very," she tittered. "Our son's been here for barely three hours and you're already scolding him by his full name. Whatever happened to, '_I'll never get mad at our baby. Never, ever, ever'_?" she imitated him in a deep voice.

Jace rolled his eyes at his wife's teasing before reaching into one of the drawers for a towel to clean himself of the vomit.

"That was before he decided to throw up on me," Jace muttered. "The little tyke."

"I think he was secretly listening when you were whining about wanting to taste breast milk," Clary said, holding in a laugh. "So being the generous baby that he is, he decided to share some with you!"

"Ha-ha. That is so hilarious, Clary," Jace said in a monotonous voice. "I think you should do a stand-up comedy at J.C.'s ceremony," he added as he tossed the soiled towel into the laundry hamper.

"Mmm, maybe I shou—" Clary gasped, her emerald green eyes slightly widened as Jace raised himself up on his knees on top of her, his forearms resting on either side of her head.

Their little banter suddenly forgotten, the former gladiator smiled down at his wife. "I love you," he said, pecking her once on the lips.

Clary raised a questioning eyebrow at his sudden change and Jace just grazed his knuckles against her cheek tenderly. "I don't want to talk anymore… I just want to spend tonight kissing you," he murmured, punctuating each word with a firm kiss to her mouth.

Sighing, but still not fully comprehending Jace's actions, Clary draped her arms around his neck before weaving her fingers through his blonde curls. "Five minutes," she told him. "No longer than that, Jace. I'm tired," she said as her husband moved to plant hot kisses on her neck.

"Mhmm," he replied, not ceasing his kisses. "Better make good use of those five minutes then." He darted his tongue out, licking small circles onto her skin.

Clary gasped and arched her neck a little. "Jace—"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sore and we can't have sex for at least another month," she quickly rushed out, in case her husband got ahead of himself and attempted to be intimate with her.

"I know," he said unremorsefully.

Clary guided his head up to look at her, eliciting a disgruntled noise from the young king. "Yes?" he asked her impatiently. "You're taking up my five minutes."

"Can't we do this tomorrow?" she asked, feeling a little more than uncomfortable—not because of Jace showing affection to her, but rather because she was generally still feeling the aftereffects of childbirth. "I'm really tired."

Jace gave her a long look before dropping his forehead against hers with a sigh. "Okay," he agreed before rolling off of her and plopping down onto his back.

Clary pulled up the covers over their lower torsos and laced her fingers with Jace's, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"What's with the sudden urge to kiss me?" she enquired after a few moments of tense silence, genuinely curious over his intentions. "You kiss me every other day."

Jace shrugged his shoulders as he stared up at the ceiling, a sullen expression on his face. "I just want to, I guess," he said in a distant tone.

Clary turned her head to look at him and placed her hand on his cheek, coaxing him to look at her.

Sighing, Jace glanced over at his wife, his golden eyes darkened—not with lust, but _fear_, an emotion that Clary rarely ever saw in him.

"When I saw how much pain you were in today—when you were trying to give birth to J.C., I was afraid that I was going to lose you," Jace reluctantly admitted. "So after, I just thought—well—I should kiss you every other chance I get."

"You'll always have me, Jace," Clary said as her thumb traced smooth circles onto his cheek. "No matter how much pain I'm in, I'll always fight for you—the same way you've always fought for me. I'll never just leave you and our son on your own. You have my word for that," she said, mirroring Jace's words from earlier, when he'd been talking to their son.

Jace's eyes fluttered shut at his wife's gentle ministrations, but mostly at her sweet words and promises. He caught her wrist mid-action and brought it up to his face, planting chaste kisses onto each one of her soft, delicate fingertips.

"You'll always have me too, Clary," he said as he curled up against her smaller body, his lips molded firmly against her temple.

_"Always."_

* * *

**A/N:**

Yay for J.C.! I love that little baby...and him throwing up on his daddy:)

And Jace... Always a little perverted in some way...breast milk, anyone?

What do you guys think of Clary's dream of Jonathan? I do believe in spirits visiting their loved ones even after they're gone. And in Jon's case...well, we all know how much of a loving brother he's always been to his baby sister. To me, that was him saying goodbye to Clary and moving on for real because she's finally gotten the happiness she deserves with Jace and J.C.

Spare me a few seconds and let me know your thoughts in a review! It's always nice to get feedback, even if this is just an outtake;)

xoxo~

N


	29. Clace Outtakes: Post-Epilogue part 2

**Author's Note:**

Hello guys! I'm back, obviously with another outtake. I'm so sorry I took this long. I've been going through a rough time and have been very busy with work...Anyway, I've been trying to write a new TMI fanfic and while the ideas are there, I just can't seem to write them the way I want it. I'm at this phase in my life where everything is just a mess. I'm a mess. So bear with me while I try to figure things out. I want to write, I really do, but at this point, I'm just...stuck.

But enough of that. I'd like to give a shoutout to my fantastic reviewers: Guest, angels13, Married to an Herondale, TwilightMortal, Stelle's Pen, Addy Herondale, Pinecest, Jcdbunny, DamphiricAngel2014, Toolazytologin, BookWormProud, Islandgirl4evR, Sosebo, hufflepuffamity, Aubrey Kelly and Jling! Your reviews spur me on, so thank you for your continued support.

Ah, p.s. I've just recently changed my Pen Name to xxAMadWorldReveriexx because, well, I think that's what best reflects my life at this point. Mad world, though it's nothing at all like a reverie. I just like the word...and because I'm in love with the song Mad World! So yeah. It's no longer xoxNxox, it's xxAMadWorldReveriexx...unless things turn brighter for me. Maybe then I'll be APocketfulOfSunshine. Haha, another song I'm love with. How terribly unoriginal, right? I know, I know...

I apologize if this outtake is like shit. I'm just taking my chances at this point, and will edit this outtake at a later date. But eh, heads-up! Clary and Jace engage in *AHEM* in this one...if you know what I mean.

**Disclaimer:** Cassandra Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

"I love you, Jonathan Christopher Herondale," Clary whispered to her two-month-old son, smiling when she felt his soft, gentle breaths tickling her ivory skin. His head was currently nestled against the crook of her neck, his tiny body molded snugly against her chest, having fallen asleep just mere minutes ago after she'd finished feeding him.

Gently easing herself off of the rocking chair, Clary walked over to her son's crib and carefully placed him down on the mattress, making soft shushing noises when he whimpered and began to stir a little.

_'__Please don't wake up again,'_ Clary silently pleaded, knowing very well just how _especially_ clingy her baby was to her. In fact, most of the time, J.C. preferred to sleep in the comfort of his mother's arms; each time she would move, even the smallest of shifts, he would stir, as if he were subconsciously afraid that she would let him go.

"Shh…Mommy's here, baby," Clary cooed as she brushed her fingertips along his warm chubby cheek, tracing slow, feather-like circles.

After a while, J.C. let out a quiet sigh before stilling, his pink lips slightly parted in a tiny 'O' shape and his chest heaving ever so slightly.

Clary smiled to herself. He was such an adorable little angel. _Her _little angel.

Once she was certain that her son had settled back into a peaceful state of sleep, Clary bent down and pressed a long kiss onto his forehead, her own eyes closed as she inhaled his comforting scent.

Unable to help it, her lips curved upwards into another small contented smile and she nuzzled her nose further against her baby's skin. While Jace's scent made her feel safe, protected and loved, J.C.'s made her feel warm and fuzzy all over. She couldn't quite explain it, but somehow his smell—of powder, lavender oil and something entirely his own—reminded her of innocence and hope; it made her feel _serene._

Reluctantly pulling away, Clary let out a quiet sigh before adjusting the crochet-patterned fleece blanket over J.C.'s torso, one she knew had belonged to her once as a baby, hand-knitted by her own mother.

"He's asleep?" A soft, velvety voice sounded from just a few inches away from her.

Startled, Clary jumped and spun around, only to find her husband standing behind her, a smirk mixed in with an apologetic look on his face.

She brought her hand up and placed it over her racing heart, a furious glare directed at him. "Stop creeping up on me like that!" she hissed at him.

"Sorry," Jace said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Clary let out an annoyed breath through her nose. "You didn't scare me," she grumbled. "Just _surprised_, is all. Who, in God's name, even moves so silently like that?" she asked to no one in particular.

Jace gave her a half-smile. "Why, the one and only stunningly attractive Jace Herondale, of course," he answered her.

Clary narrowed her eyes at her husband. "Stop being a smart-ass, Jace," she chastised him before drawing her arm out and attempting to smack his back with her hand.

Instead of hitting her intended target though, she ended up spanking her husband's butt, eliciting surprised gasps from both of them.

Clary hesitantly looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes, deep red coloring her cheeks, and Jace's smile instantly widened into a full-blown grin.

"Wow, Clarissa. I know you're excited but you don't need to grab my ass like that—"

"I did _not_—"

"There, there. I won't hold it against you. You're not the first one to be suddenly overcome with the wanton urge to grab my beautifully sculpted ass—"

"Why are we talking about Jace's ass again?" A weary voice that sounded distinctly like Isabelle's interrupted.

Clary and Jace turned their heads in the direction of the door in unison, and seconds later, Isabelle appeared, her raven hair trailing behind her like a silk curtain.

"And in the presence of a two-month-old baby, mind you," the former maid added in a reproachful tone.

"I didn't say I liked Jace's ass," Clary argued, eliciting raised eyebrows from both her best friend and husband.

Jace leaned in closer to her. "We didn't say you did," he whispered, loud enough for Isabelle to still hear him, apparently. "And quite the contrary, I'm pretty sure you've admitted to _loving_ my as—_butt_," Jace corrected himself upon eyeing his son, "several times during our past romantic trysts—"

"Can we please stop talking about Jace's butt?" Izzy interrupted. "Seriously. I don't need any mental images of the two of you going at it—or Clary—our _sweet, innocent, demure _Clary—_groping_ your butt." At her own comment, Izzy's face scrunched up in disgust. "Ugh, do you even see the irony there? Clary and butt-groping?"

Jace opened his mouth to speak on his wife's behalf but Izzy quickly raised her hand to cut him off. "Forget it—Forget I ever said anything. Pleaseeee. Can we just move on from this?"

"Only if _you_ stop _butt_-ing in on our conversations," Jace said with a faux-serious expression before he began snickering at his own silly joke.

"Shut up, Jace," both women rebuked him with withering looks of their own.

Feeling vastly outnumbered—well, not really—Jace raised both hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

Izzy rolled her eyes at him and scoffed. "Unbelieveable. This is the kind of parental influence my nephew gets. I feel so concerned for his well-being—"

"Technically he isn't your nephew—"

"Shut up, Jace." Izzy glowered at him.

"Geez, someone's in a mood," Jace said in a teasing tone. "Pregnancy has really made you more…unkind, hasn't it? I wonder how Rat-Face deals with all your mood swings."

"Jace." Clary gave him a reproachful look before eyeing her pregnant friend.

Indeed. Isabelle Lightwood—or rather, Isabelle _Lewis_—has recently announced herself to be with child, and about three months along now.

"Oh, don't bother, Clary," Izzy said in a sardonic tone. "We all know how Jace is. Once a jackass, always a jackass—"

"And now we're back to talking about my ass," Jace quipped. "I must say, I feel extremely flattered—"

"Get out—both of you," Izzy snapped.

Clary and Jace jumped at her tone, and a brief look of hurt crossed the redhead's features. "What did I do?" she asked, the exact same time her husband exclaimed incredulously: "You're kicking me out of my son's room?"

"You're both annoying me, to be honest," Isabelle said, rubbing her temples. "And besides, I'm doing you both a favor. Don't you two have somewhere else you need to be?" she asked, gesturing towards the door.

"Shoo! Make sure you're back by midnight—Don't want my nephew to starve and all that," Izzy added. "I don't mind keeping an eye on him, but I'm not exactly equipped with his _other_ needs."

Jace straightened himself. "Right. To the stables then," he said before turning around and marching dramatically towards the door.

"You're not even going to kiss our baby goodbye?" Clary's voice stopped him mid-march, the emotion thick in her voice. Jace turned around and he felt his own heart clenching when he saw tears glistening in her eyes and her bottom lip quivering. "This is the first time we're leaving him—_ever_."

Jace cleared his throat. "You're right. I'm sorry, sweetie. I wasn't thinking," he said as he made his way back towards J.C.'s crib.

Bending down, Jace planted a soft kiss on J.C.'s cheek. "Bye-bye, my sweet little boy. Daddy loves you. Be a good boy for Auntie Izzy, will you?"

Clary stepped behind her husband and placed a hand on his lower back. "That's better," she said with a smile before following Jace's example and kissing their son. "Bye, baby."

"Bye, mommy and daddy," Isabelle answered plainly, an irritated scowl on her face. She stretched her right arm out and pointed a perfectly manicured finger towards the door.

"Now get out."

* * *

"Clary, sweetheart...wake up. We're here," Jace said in a mellow voice as he gently nudged Clary awake.

He brought her hand up to his lips and softly kissed the back of it, his thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the spot where he'd kissed her, and slowly, she opened her emerald green eyes, blinking as she took in her surroundings.

As suspected, Jace had led them both to the clearing, just outside their secret meadow.

Reluctantly, she lifted her head from Jace's shoulder, removing her arms from around his waist as he dismounted from Wayfarer, a large picnic basket tucked in his left arm.

Noticing that his wife was still in a sleepy haze, Jace raised both his arms out towards her before lifting her in bridal-style position, where she promptly snuggled her face into his chest to resume her little cat nap.

Jace chuckled as he carried her into the meadow. She reminded him so much of their baby boy. "You better not be drooling on the front of my shirt as well," he playfully scolded her.

"I _never_ drool," Clary mumbled half-heartedly, a bright crimson color spreading across her entire face at Jace's allegation. She buried her face further into his chest, trying to play it off as her fatigue-induced nonchalance when in actuality, she was trying to conceal her blush from his ever observant golden gaze.

"My terrible mistake. It must have been rainwater from one of the trees that caused the wet patch on my sleeve then," Jace replied, the sarcasm thick in his voice. "After all, I do agree that the idea of an esteemed queen such as yourself drooling to be quite preposterous. But then again, it hasn't been raining in the last few days, has it?"

Clary clucked her tongue and made a shushing noise in response. "Quiet. I'm trying to sleep here," she muttered in embarrassment, hoping that her husband would stop teasing her about the whole drooling issue. He could be such a jerk to her sometimes.

"What'd you do the whole day to be this tired anyway? I thought one of the maids—Maia, was it?—was helping you to take care of J.C. so you could rest," Jace said with an amused grin as he gently placed her down onto the soft grass.

He watched his wife in complete wonderment as she curled up onto her side, her head pillowed against her right arm. Despite her often protests, Jace had always believed that she looked like an angel, _especially now_, glowing radiantly against the moonlight.

"Mmmm," was her only lazy response.

Chuckling, Jace laid down next to her, pulling her back flush against his chest as he spooned her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his hand on her stomach while the other idly played with her auburn curls.

Jace smiled to himself. He loved moments like this, when he could simply enjoy being with Clary without needing to worry about any interruptions. Since their son's birth two months ago—and Jace's neverending duties as king—they'd both barely even had any time for each other. And while Jace loved his son with his whole entire being and wouldn't trade him for anyone or anything else in the world, he'd, admittedly, missed the times when it was _just_ him and Clary.

"Come on, wake up. I have something for you," he murmured against her neck as he slowly planted kisses onto her soft, milky skin.

Clary shivered as he kissed the sensitive spot behind her left ear, the hand that he'd placed on her stomach slowly inching upwards to caress her breast through the silky fabric of her dress.

"Jace," Clary moaned, suddenly fully awake and fully aware of his movements. She could feel his hardness straining behind her, pressing deeply into her curves as he ground his hips against her.

"Clary," he groaned into her neck as he bucked his hips into her.

_That_ was another one of the things he'd missed in the last two months—their moments of unparalleled intimacy.

It wasn't that either of them had lost interest in making love to each other. Each time they did try, they would always end up being interrupted—either by J.C. from being hungry or needing a diaper change; Jace being called away to tend to his duties; or both of them being completely spent from the days' events and falling asleep the moment their heads hit the pillows.

Not _now_ though, Clary thought with a coy smile. As tired as she had been earlier, she was determined to make love to her husband tonight, to give them both the pleasure they'd been craving for in the last two bittersweet months.

As Jace began to add more pressure against her, Clary rolled her own hips against him, smiling when she heard him let out a feral groan. She covered his hand that was still fondling with her breasts with her own, directing it to move faster in an attempt of increasing her own pleasure.

"God, sweet—Cla—you're going to be the death of me," he muttered, barely able to keep up a coherent thought as he drove himself deeper into his own desire, his stomach knotting tightly with pleasure. He wasn't even inside her yet but he could feel himself quickly reaching his culmination. "_I'm close_," he breathed in between short pants.

Just as Clary threw her head backwards and was about to let out another moan, she suddenly felt something strange and ticklish fluttering about her nose. She opened her eyes, mildly irritated by the unwelcome distraction when she realized that the culprit was none other than a large firefly—that was currently setting up residence on the crook of her nose.

Immediately, her lust-filled haze was shattered and she let out a loud, earsplitting shriek that shocked Jace into complete sobriety.

He sat up, his golden eyes wide and alert as he searched for the cause of Clary's unprecedented shriek, his whole body taut with defense. He watched confoundedly as his wife rolled onto her feet and ran about the meadow, her hands furiously swatting at something on her face.

Uncomprehending of the situation, Jace squinted his eyes, only to see that the cause of her panic was nothing more than a minuscule yet notorious firefly.

Upon registering the ridiculousness of the situation, he spluttered into a loud laugh, clutching his stomach in amusement as he watched the show that Clary was putting on—that was, until she finally halted her movements and sent him a murderous glare.

"What are you laughing at?" she demanded in a scary-calm tone as she trudged calculatively towards him, her cheeks flushed and her green eyes narrowed dangerously at him.

Jace gulped, slowly retreating backwards. "Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing at all. I was just remembering something funny that happened during a meeting today," he said, trying—_and failing_—to make up an excuse for himself.

"Are you lying to your wife, Jace?"

"No! Never. Me, a liar? That's almost as ridiculous as you drooling in your sleep."

Clary stopped in her tracks, eyes narrowed further at Jace's mention of her drooling, and that was when he realized he was in deep trouble.

"Now, now, sweetheart. Calm down... After all, it's our first wedding anniversary. We should be celebrating it instead of fighting." Jace tried sweet-talking her with what he _hoped_ looked like a charming smile.

Clary halted in her tracks again, her face softening at his words. _Their first wedding anniversary. _She could hardly believe that they'd been married for a year now. Exactly twelve months ago, they'd both stood here in the meadow, pledging their love—_their lives_—to each other. Their futures had been so uncertain then, threatened by both her father and her supposed fiancé, but now those two were gone. They were now free from danger, free to live their lives the way they've always wanted to—with each other and with their baby.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours now?" Jace enquired, startling Clary out of her reverie.

She blinked a couple of times before she finally refocused on her husband. An idea popped into her head and she inconspicuously smirked to herself.

Jace, thinking that she had moved past her annoyance with him earlier, grinned and opened his arms out wide to welcome her into them.

Clary returned his smile with one of her own before skipping towards him and casually plopping down onto his lap.

Before he could even open his mouth to say anything, she kissed him, her lips fierce and hungry as her hand groped around for the picnic basket behind him.

Jace, lost in the kiss, held her to him tightly, his eyes closed in contentment. He never saw it coming until it was far too late; Clary suddenly pulled back from the kiss and splattered a cupcake onto his face, blatantly smearing the frosting all over his mouth and cheeks.

"Clary!" Jace yelled exasperatedly as he turned his face away from her, his hand desperately wiping away the frosting from his face.

Clary rolled herself off of him, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

"It's not funny, Clary," Jace chided her as he sent her a glare.

Clary laughed even harder when she noticed a strip of frosting across the top of her husband's mouth, resembling a white moustache.

"Wh-what? What?" Jace demanded, his cheeks tinted with pink.

"So eloquent, Monsieur Jace," Clary teased him as she nuzzled her nose against his.

Jace narrowed his golden eyes further at her and Clary bit down on her bottom lip to stifle another laugh.

"Here," she finally relented, smiling to herself as she ridded him of the frosting with her thumb before promptly sucking it clean.

Jace watched her movement with hooded eyes, feeling desire spark again in his abdomen. "Kiss me," he said quietly, leaning his forehead against her own, his breath mingling with hers.

Clary wrapped her arms around his neck before softly crashing her lips with his, their kisses sweeter, much gentler this time. Before Jace could attempt to deepen the kiss, she pulled away, slightly breathless but smirking at him nonetheless.

"Don't get too carried away. I have something for you, too," she told him with another chaste kiss to his lips.

Not giving Jace the time to protest, she crawled off his lap and reached for the picnic basket, her emerald green eyes locked with golden ones as she dug her hand into the wickerwork box.

Instantly, Jace backed away from her, suspicious that she was planning to attack him with another cupcake. "Just so we're clear, I completely disapprove of your actions earlier, Mrs Herondale. It is simply unbecoming of a lady and a _wife_ to attack her innocent, unsuspecting husband with food—food that I'd much rather eat, I might add," he lectured her.

"Oh pardon me, my love! How terribly rude and inconsiderate of me," she mocked him as pulled out a rectangular shaped item from the basket. It was about the length of her own forearm and was wrapped up in a white cotton-like cloth.

Jace heaved a silent sigh of relief but made no move to come closer to her in case she decided to whack him on the head with the object. He could never tell with her mood swings. "What's that?" he asked, a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

Clary held the item against her chest. "My anniversary present for you," she replied, blushing sheepishly. She hesitated for a moment before she offered it to Jace, who accepted it with curious but eager anticipation.

He gave her a smirk before unwrapping the cloth from around the item, his face morphing into a look of complete awe when he realized that it was a canvas...and not just any canvas, but an actual a painting of him and Clary, from the night of their wedding.

He traced his slender pianist fingers over the the outline of their painted figures; they were facing each other, hands interlocked and their foreheads pressed together, their lips lingering just millimeters away from each other, about to kiss. In the background were the silhouettes of her late brother Jonathan and Father Zachariah, and of course, the beautiful meadow that was illuminated with the glow of fireflies.

"Do you like it?" Clary asked self-consciously, worried wrinkles marring her flawless forehead. "I've never painted anything for anyone before; I've never been quite as good as it as my mom. I apologize if it's not what you were expecting—Jace? Say something."

Jace looked up and gave her the widest of smiles. "It's beautiful, sweetheart. I absolutely love it," he said earnestly, feeling his heart blossom with warmth.

"Come here," he murmured, his golden eyes soft as he pulled Clary into his arms again.

She wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head in the crook of his neck, and for once, they were just simply hugging each other.

Jace sighed as he smoothed down her soft red tresses, loving the fact that he could just hold Clary in his arms and enjoy it without expecting anything more from her.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing him once on the neck.

"I love you, too," he answered back before slowly digging into the pocket of his pants to retrieve his own gift for her.

Still holding onto his wife, Jace looked down at the object in his hand and bit his lip, hesitating. It wasn't anything much, but he hoped—_prayed_—that Clary would like it.

He tapped her twice on the small of her back, gaining her attention as she slowly pulled away from his embrace.

Without a word, Jace grabbed her delicate hand in his own calloused one before nervously depositing his gift into her palm.

Clary raised an eyebrow as he began rubbing the back of his neck, his shaky laughter more than enough of an indication of his apprehension.

Gently extricating her fingers from their grasp, Clary gasped at the sight. It wasn't extravagant in the very least, but it was still the most beautiful necklace she'd ever seen.

Hanging from the thin silver chain was a tiny emerald stone just about the size of her own thumb, with two different engravings on each side. On the front surface of the stone was a carving of what Clary perceived to be a symbol from an ancient language, while on the back of the stone were the initials 'J' and 'C'—for 'Jace' and 'Clary'.

"Do you like it?" Jace echoed Clary's earlier question, anxiety clear in his voice. "I know it's not much—I m-mean, you probably have necklaces that are far more valuable than this one—"

Clary silenced Jace's stuttered words with a searing kiss.

"And you say that I'm the blubbering idiot between us two," she muttered jokingly against his lips.

Jace chuckled, pecking her once, twice again on the lips. "Well, you must be rubbing off on me, then," he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"You don't think it's pathetic, do you?" Jace asked worriedly. "I can get you something else—something better if you want."

"Well, if you must know, I really love it," Clary said, her gaze transfixed on the stone that coincidentally matched her own alluring green eyes. "It's better than any necklace anyone has ever given me," she muttered, and Jace smiled a little smugly to himself.

"What's this?" she asked, lightly tracing her index finger over the symbol decorating the stone.

"It's a love rune," Jace said, answering her question. "I learnt about ancient runes when I was first starting out as a gladiator. And as for the stone, well, believe it or not, I actually found it when I was horsing around with Alec in the old training fields the other day. You know, it matches your eyes."

Clary blushed. "Could you help me put it on?" she asked him shyly.

"Of course," Jace answered, gently sweeping her hair off to the side as she turned around on his lap.

Drawing the necklace around her neck, he carefully fastened the clasp on the chain, setting the stone to rest just over her collarbone. Once the necklace had been secured, he dropped a soft kiss onto the exposed skin of her throat before turning her around to face him, his right hand tenderly caressing her cheek.

"Hmm," Clary hummed happily as he continued to stroke the side of her face.

"So," she finally spoke up after a long time, coiling her arms loosely around Jace's neck. "I seem to remember you asking me a question about why I was so tired earlier," she said.

"Oh, so she finally decides to grace me with an answer," Jace quipped. "Surely it can't be because our late nights, can it? I mean, not that we've done anything beyond kissing since one of us always tends to pass out first. You're not beginning to feel worn of me, are you? I'm not sure my frail ego could fathom such a thing," he said.

"Quite the contrary, I'm kind of looking forward to _exploring_ that bit—later tonight when we get back _home_," Clary said, stressing on the word 'home'.

Jace raised an eyebrow at her. "You know the possibility of us making love at home is bloody well impossible, don't you? J.C—"

"Is being taken care of by Izzy and Simon until tomorrow morning, remember? I just need to feed him when we get home, then I'm all yours for the night," Clary reminded him, eliciting a look of relief mixed in with disappointment, and at the same time, _hope_ from Jace.

"I promise we'll have plenty of time for that later," Clary reassured him. "For now, I want us to enjoy our little picnic. I was slaving away down at Taki's during J.C.'s afternoon nap time learning how to bake the perfect cupcakes for you," she explained, and Jace felt his heart swell a little bit more at her touching sentiment.

She reached into the basket and pulled out a box of said treats, biting on her own bottom lip as he assessed them.

Jace fingered his chin mockingly as if scrutinizing the perfectly shaped cupcakes. "Hmm, I wonder…would my life be worth risking on these cupcakes? What if I get food poisoning?" He raised an eyebrow at her challengingly.

Clary scowled and slapped him across the chest. "I baked them, you eat them!" she growled, shoving a cupcake into his face.

Jace smirked at her feistiness before tentatively taking a small bite into the cupcake, and then another. _And another_. And then a giant, massive bite. It was so heavenly and soft, practically melting in his mouth that Jace resisted the urge to moan.

One thing was for sure: his wife sure did know how to win his heart...and his stomach.

Before long, the entire cupcake was devoured, leaving Jace wanting for more. Unable to help himself, he licked the crumbs off of Clary's fingers, not caring that he was probably being disgusting and acting like little boy.

Clary's face contorted in disgust. "Ewwwww, Jace," she whined, wiping her hand against his shirt. "You could have asked me for more instead of licking my fingers. You're not two years old you know," she chided.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at her in return. "Oh, so confident that I wanted more, are you?" he asked her annoyingly, purposely wanting to tease her.

"What are you trying to say?" Clary asked through slitted emerald eyes. _How dare he_. He better not be insulting her hardwork of making him those cupcakes, she thought, slightly irked by the idea.

Jace pretended to adopt a thoughtful look. "Hmm, let's see...I'd give you an 'A' for effort, but overall, I do believe that you need a lot more practice. I mean, the texture was a little lumpy. Not to mention, it was quite mushy and...gooey in the center." He paused, barely hiding his smile from making an appearance at the sight of Clary's flamed cheeks and her flustered expression. "Yep, definitely needs a lot more practice!" He nodded with his signature infuriating smirk.

Much to his bewilderment, instead of lashing out defensively at him like he had expected, Clary's bottom lip trembled before a trail of tears began to pour down her cheeks.

Jace's eyes widened. "Clary—"

"Don't," she snapped, her face turning into an angry pout as she removed herself from his lap and sat facing away from him, her arms folded across her chest sulkily.

Oh boy, Jace thought, still puzzled over why she could be so sensitive over his obvious teasing. "Sweetheart, you know I was only joking," he said as he carefully rubbed her arm at an attempt of cajoling her.

"Hmph," Clary grunted, pulling her arm away from him, still refusing to look at him.

Jace sighed, almost exasperatedly. An idea came to mind and he grinned to himself. Clary wasn't the only one who could pull off pranks, he thought, feeling smug as he let out another pretend sigh.

"Clary...look at me, honey," he said, putting on a sad, defeated tone which unfortunately for him, didn't move her at all.

"Clar—Aaghhh!" Jace shouted in pain, his hand clutching his chest as he hunched over and curled in on himself.

Clary immediately turned around, eyes wide with worry and fear. "Jace! Jace, what is it? What's wrong?" she prodded him as she lightly squeezed his shoulders to try to get him to look at her.

He began spluttering into a violent cough, sending alarm and panic spiraling through his wife.

"Jace, please!" Clary pleaded him tearfully, not knowing what to do to help him.

She threw her arms around him and began to sob, her constant begging mingling with the cacophonous sound of his wild gasping and coughing. Clary thought she was going to pass out herself from a panic attack when Jace suddenly straightened himself and began to chortle heartily at her.

"You bastard!" she yelled, punching his arm furiously as Jace continued to roll over with laughter. "How could you? I thought you were going to die on me!" she continued her rant while sobbing at the same time.

She threw herself onto his chest and smacked him again before her anger simply dwindled down into helpless crying.

_'__Stupid, idiotic, imbecilic Jace!'_ Clary thought angrily. How could he even have the gall to play such a cruel trick on her? Didn't he realize that her biggest fear was actually losing him forever?

She raised her fist to hit him again when he caught her wrist and pulled her down into a scorching kiss, murmuring his apologies against her mouth.

Clary tried to resist him at first but Jace only held her tighter to him, kissing and touching her lovingly until she finally caved and melted into him.

Jace flipped them over and settled himself between her legs, his hands roaming down her body and touching her ivory skin as he slid them beneath her dress. He detached his lips from Clary's, both of them equally breathless, before showering her neck with wet, hot kisses, their hips undulating feverishly yet rhythmically against each other.

Clary moaned, curling her fingers around Jace's blonde, wavy locks and deliberately pulling it just as his hands reached her inner thigh.

"Wait, Jace. Stop," she gasped out, her back arched and her head dizzy with a mix of pleasure and her own intrusive conscience as he cupped her sensitive, intimate area.

"What, Clary?" Jace groaned, feeling a little irritated by her interruption. He was _so_ _close_ to getting what he wanted before she stopped him_. Again. _

Not that he was trying to be a selfish bastard of a husband and take advantage of her; Jace would always respect Clary's wishes and never coerce her into anything she didn't want to, but then again, he couldn't dismiss the fact that he was a pent-up, hormonal man with needs—needs that had been delayed for far too long.

"Can we…finish t-this l-later…at h-home?" Clary stuttered in between short bursts of pants. "Please? I don't feel comfortable doing this out in the open," she finished in a barely audible whisper.

Jace dropped his head onto the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent of vanilla and strawberries. "Why not?" he _whined _like a four-year-old who'd just had his toys confiscated by his mother.

Clary reached her hand down and removed Jace's stilled hand from her underneath her dress. "Honey, please. I can't," she stammered. "I don't feel comfortable with all these fireflies flying about and touching me."

Jace raised his head to look at her. "Sweetie, it's not like one of them's going to fly into any of your orifices. It's perfectly safe," he said, sounding almost desperate for her to succumb to his desire. "Pleeasee? The meadow's long due for a little christening…"

Clary contemplated the idea in her head, debating fiercely against her rational, or as her husband would call it, her _paranoid_ self.

As Jace began to give her his pleading puppy dog look, Clary groaned loudly in defeat. It was inevitable, really. How could she—or anyone, really—say 'no' to _that_ face?

"Fine. But we're not doing it in this position," she said, pushing him off of her.

Jace quirked his eyebrow at her before smirking devilishly. "Oh? You want to be on top? The chances of those fireflies entering your butt will be much higher if you—"

"God, Jace! Shut up!" Clary clamped her hand on top of his mouth. "Either we do this my way or we don't do it at all," she warned as she directed him into a sitting position and dragged his pants down to his knees, exposing his erect manhood.

Clary swallowed hard at the sight of it and her emerald green orbs immediately darkened with a look of unadulterated lust, the familiar moisture gathering in the juncture between her thighs.

Jace watched inquisitively as she braced herself on top of his lap, her knees slightly bent on either side of him and her dress pulled up to her hips.

_'__Oh,'_ Jace thought, finally comprehending what Clary was getting at. _'This position.'_

With a deep breath, Clary slid herself down onto his hard length, both of them moaning in unison as their bodies _finally _fused together.

"Oh, Jace," Clary moaned as he thrust his hips upwards, sinking himself deeper into her tight depths.

"Clary…honey, you feel so good…" Jace grasped her thighs as they began to rock their bodies together, their pace as slow and languid as their kisses. Secretly, he wished that they were both naked instead; he'd especially missed the feeling of their bare bodies pressed up against each other's, but he would make do with this compromise. _For now._

As Clary began to rock more vigorously against him, Jace braced the palms of his hands against the grass, holding his weight up as he pounded into her. His brows furrowed together as his mouth fell open, heavy pants crossing his lips with each fevered push.

"More," Clary pleaded as she wrapped her legs around her husband's waist in a vise-grip. "Harder, Jace. _Please._"

As if something in him had snapped, Jace pushed Clary down until she was lying with her back flat against the grass, their bodies still deeply connected. Hovering above her with his weight held up on his forearms, he eyed her with a smoldering smirk before pulling out and thrusting into her roughly.

Clary's head fell back and her back arched, her lips parted with a pleasured _"Oh"_.

Jace groaned as thrust into her at a rapid pace, moving faster and faster until white-hot pleasure burst before his golden eyes, and she was practically screaming and clenching down on him with release.

Once their climaxes had subsided, Jace sighed and pulled Clary tight against him. He kissed the sweet spot behind her ear again, tracing lighter, innocent kisses on her cheek and lower down to her jaw.

As he leaned their foreheads together and stared into Clary's beautiful green eyes, she suddenly asked him, "Were my cupcakes really that disgusting?"

Jace stifled a laugh, watching her eyebrows knit together with worry and managed a simple, "No."

Clary's features visibly relaxed so he decided to add, "I was only joking, sweetheart. You take everything so seriously these days."

Clary scowled at him in return and opened her mouth to retort—or so Jace thought. Then, to his surprise, she smiled at him at the last second and nuzzled her nose playfully against his. "Happy one-year anniversary, Mr Herondale," she said.

Jace smiled before claiming her lips in a short and sweet kiss. "Happy one-year anniversary, Mrs Herondale."

* * *

**A/N:**

Shit or nay?

I feel like I'm losing my touch, so I'd say shit. I just want to throw my head in a blender and squeeze my brain into a puddle of mush. Huh, what?

Leave me your thoughts in a review:)

xoxo~

N


	30. Clace Outtakes: Post-Epilogue part 3

**Author's Note:**

Hello, lovelies! I spent a whole two days writing this outtake. Eek! It's almost 9K words (excluding A/Ns), can you guys believe it?

Anyways, **shoutout** to my awesome reviewers: divfan96, DamphiricAngel2014, Jling, ILazyForever, Sparrows13 _(Did you just change your pen name?:))_, hufflepuffamity, Pinecest, Married to an Herondale, FluffyFluffLover, XOXPandaBear, shannie83, Sosebo, and not forgetting, my guest reviewers! Can I just say that you guys are all amazing people? Thank you; every single one of you made me smile with your reassuring reviews and support. I am so grateful for all of you. Hope you guys enjoy this outtake xx

And just a heads-up, there will be a smexy Clace time somewhere towards the end...

**Disclaimer:** Cassie Clare owns the original TMI series and characters.

* * *

Clary stood by the doorway of J.C.'s room, watching with a wide smile as Jace tossed their giggling son in the air before catching him with a hearty laugh. He brought his son's tummy to his face and blew a loud raspberry kiss, eliciting louder giggles from the young boy.

"Happy birthday, J.C.," Jace said in a soft, tender tone as he lowered his son to his chest. His golden eyes were soft, like melted pools of honey as he caressed his son's golden-blonde curls.

The young boy clapped his chubby little hands before snuggling his face into his father's shoulder, a stream of enthusiastic baby babbling escaping his mouth.

"God…I love you so much," Jace choked out, a thick emotion—_Joy? Pride? Sadness?_—in his voice. He dropped a soft kiss onto the top of J.C.'s head and closed his eyes as if in prayer, his arms tight around his son.

He could hardly believe that this boy, _his _boy, had just turned one years old. _How time flies!_ It felt like only yesterday he was witnessing his son's birth, when he'd held him in his arms for the first time. He'd been such a tiny, little thing back then, vulnerable and delicate—_he still was_—but God, how he had grown!

At nine months old, J.C. had surprised Jace and Clary with his first word—not with the typical 'mama' or 'dada', but '_uh-oh_'—why, Jace would never know. Since then, he'd picked up a few other words: mama, hi, bye, no, cat, ball, and several others, including Jace's least favorite word, duck. And most recently—just two days ago, in fact—he'd taken his first steps; shaky but determined, he'd walked a short distance between his mother and father, all the while squealing and babbling like the chirpy baby that he was.

Jace sighed into J.C.'s hair. The truth was, while he was happy and proud to be able to witness his son's growth—from a tiny fetus in his mother's belly to the happy toddler that he was today—he was scared at how fast all of it was happening; he was scared of the moment when his son would grow old enough to stop depending on him and Clary—when _he_ would be forced to _let go_.

"Hey," Clary spoke up after a while, entering the room to join her family.

The two boys looked up at the sound of her voice, Jace smiling lovingly at his wife while J.C. began flapping around in his father's arms excitedly.

"Mam-mam-mam-mam-ma!" J.C. gurgled, calling his mother.

Clary smiled at her son affectionately. "Mama?"

"What about Daddy?" Jace asked, trying to regain his son's attention but failing miserably; he could never quite compete with Clary for J.C.'s attention. To all intents and purposes, J.C. was an absolute, _one-hundred-percent_, mommy's boy. That aside, while his son's lexicon had been slowly growing, he'd still yet to say the one word Jace wanted—_needed_—to hear him say: dada.

"Come on, J.C. Say 'da-da'," Jace urged him encouragingly, only to have the one-year-old swat his face away in annoyance. He squirmed around in Jace's hold, trying to get the best possible view of his mother, while Jace continued to spin and twirl around in an attempt to block Clary from the toddler's line of sight.

Another string of incoherent babble left the young boy as he repeatedly stretched his pudgy arms out for his mother, obviously impatient as Clary began to play along with her husband. She teasingly dodged out of J.C.'s reach and hid behind Jace, wrapping her arms around his lean, muscular waist and poking her tongue out at her son, who at this point resembled a worm with his persistent wriggling motions.

J.C. pouted at his mother from where he was perched on his father's hip; his golden-flecked green eyes were now rounder than usual and glassy with a layer of unshed tears. "Mama?" he whimpered, his nose scrunching up in an endearingly adorable way. He blinked once and several rolls of fat tears fell down his chubby, slightly pink cheeks.

Unable to withstand the sight of their son crying, Jace finally handed J.C. over to Clary, who began to hush and coo words of love and comfort to him. "Aww, don't cry, baby. Mommy and Daddy were only playing," she told him in a sweet voice that she reserved only for her son. "Don't cry. It's your birthday today, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Jace joined in as he wrapped his arms around both his wife and child. "And Daddy has a special surprise for you." He poked J.C.'s nose with the tip of his index finger lightly.

J.C. sniffled and looked from his mother to his father with an almost questioning look. He focused his gaze on his mother once more, as if trying to get her confirmation about there actually being a 'surprise'—he had always been a clever and perceptive baby, Jace noted proudly.

"Mm-hmm, that's right," Clary affirmed perkily. "Daddy has a surprise for you—as long as don't cry. Okay?"

As if agreeing to his mother's terms, J.C. blinked once and reached his arms out for his father to take him, cooing softly.

Jace smiled and instantly took his son in his arms again, landing a gentle kiss onto each of J.C's cheeks; they were still splotchy from the residue of tears but he'd thankfully stopped crying. He used the corner of his sleeve to wipe his son's cheeks and grinned when J.C. laid his head down on his shoulder and began sucking on his thumb quietly.

"Good boy," Jace complimented his son before turning to look at his wife. He placed his free hand on the small of her back and kissed her softly on the temple.

"You look sexy, by the way," he told her as he eyed her up and down appreciatively. She was wearing a leather outfit, complete with tight-fitting leather pants, a jacket and a pair of black ankle boots. "I'm going to enjoy taking this off you later," Jace said in a gruff tone.

"So confident," Clary remarked, purposely looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. "What makes you think I'll agree to doing anything with you later, dear husband?" She bit her lip for an extra effect, teasing him seductively.

Jace's eyes fell on her lips and he licked his own, wishing he were the one biting it instead. "You drive me crazy, Mrs Herondale," he almost groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his position without trying to jostle J.C. too much.

Clary's gaze dropped to the forming bulge in her husband's pants. "You love it," she said in a sultry voice as she slowly trailed her fingers down his abdomen, stopping short at the area just below his navel. Jace's breath hitched.

"Clary," he groaned. "I'm carrying a baby—_Our_ baby, mind you. If you keep doing that, I'm going to drop him," he said in a strained voice, immediately sobering Clary.

She cleared her throat. "Sorry, darling," she said, kissing his cheek.

Jace raised an eyebrow at her. "Since when have you called me darling?" he asked, rubbing his hand up and down J.C.'s back absentmindedly when he began to whine—being an active baby, J.C. could never stay at one place for too long.

"Just trying it out," she said, putting a comforting hand on J.C.'s head; he instantly stopped whining when he felt his mother's touch and laid his head back down on his father's shoulder with a resigned-sounding sigh.

Jace raised an eyebrow at his wife again, looking a little more frustrated. "How on earth did _you_ do that?" he asked her exasperatedly as he stared at their son, who'd gone back to sucking on his thumb patiently, sighing every once in a while as if weary from waiting for his troublesome, bickering parents.

"Mother's secret," she whispered to him cryptically.

Jace shook his head, deciding to let it go for now. "Shall we, _darling_?" He offered her his hand and she took it, lacing their fingers together.

With a gentle kiss to the back of his hand, Clary nodded, smiling sweetly. "We shall."

* * *

As the young family entered the stables, J.C. raised his head from his father's shoulder and began surveying his surroundings. His nose was scrunched up in a way that it always did when he was curious, his gold-flecked green eyes wide and inquisitive.

Jace led his wife and son to Wayfarer's enclosure, where they were greeted with a friendly neigh by the brown horse. J.C.'s eyes immediately brightened and he waved his tiny hand at Wayfarer vigorously, as if he were greeting the horse.

"Say 'Hi, Wayfarer'," Clary encouraged her son.

"Hi, Wa-we-wer," J.C. said, still waving at the horse and bouncing up and down in his father's arms excitedly.

"Great," Jace sighed. "He said 'Wayfarer' but he refuses to say 'Daddy'." The young king looked down, a sullen and hurt expression on his face. _Could it be that his own son didn't love him?_ He wondered, looking even more upset.

It was probably his own fault anyway if he didn't, Jace thought. He hadn't been spending as much time as he should have with his baby, what with always having his royal duties to tend to. Granted, he hadn't missed any of J.C.'s milestones: his first smile, his first laugh, his first words, his first steps—but perhaps the only reason he hadn't was because of sheer, dumb _luck_. Clary on the other hand…Clary was a wonderful mother. _Perfect_ even. _She_ could easily put _him_ to shame with _her_ parenting skills.

"Jace?" Clary called, waving her hand in front of his face. He remained deep in thought, barely even blinking despite her persistent attempts of trying to rally his attention.

Clary internally rolled her eyes at her husband's sulky mood and cleared her throat to get her son's attention instead. He looked mildly irritated at his mother for interrupting him but otherwise gave her his full, undivided attention.

"J.C., say 'Daddy'," Clary said in a loud, clear voice, enough to jolt Jace out of his thoughts.

The golden-haired king looked at his son expectantly, and to his surprise, the young boy complied—albeit begrudgingly—mumbling "Da-da" underneath his breath before turning to look at the horse again.

Jace smiled widely—a large toothed smile that caused creases to form at the corners of his eyes—and squeezed J.C. into a tight hug before peppering kisses all over the toddler's face.

Annoyed, the toddler squirmed in his father's arms and squealed loudly in protest—not that it bothered Jace in the very least. He was far too happy that he finally managed to hear his son called him 'dada'; unbeknownst to him that Clary _had_ been studiously teaching him to say the word, among other basic vocabulary in his absence.

"I'll be right back," Jace said, still grinning to himself.

"Let me take him," Clary offered, putting her hands out to take her son.

Without a word, Jace passed his son over to Clary so that he could fetch the saddle and prepare the horse for their outing.

She chuckled when she saw him skipping about like a child, all the while muttering _'he called me dada'_ repeatedly to himself.

"Don't be gone too long, _dada_," Clary teased him, eliciting a half-hearted eyeroll from her husband. He jogged into the tack room, out of her line of sight, and Clary returned her attention to the one-year-old once more.

J.C. stretched his hand out towards Wayfarer, and the horse drew himself nearer to him, sniffing the toddler's hand eagerly for food.

At the brief contact, J.C.'s excitement seemed to bubble over and he patted the horse's head animatedly, almost _aggressively_, loud peals of giggles escaping him. This, however, did not settle well with the Wayfarer, who let out a disgruntled snort in return.

"No, J.C.," Clary chided her son upon sensing the horse's disapproval. She gripped his pudgy fingers gently in her own to halt his movements. "Gently, baby…like this…" She guided his small hand over Wayfarer's head in soft, tender strokes, and the horse began to calm down a little, his head bowed slightly as he welcomed the toddler's touch.

"There, see? You've made Wayfarer happy," Clary praised the young boy, who cooed happily at the brown horse in return.

"I see you've made a new friend," Jace said as he walked back towards the enclosure, a polished brown saddle in hand.

J.C. turned to face his father and gave him a cheeky smile. "Dada!" he squealed, causing Jace's smile to grow impossibly wider.

Clary hid an amused snort at the scene, knowing very well that her son was doing it on purpose—he, like Clary, had always loved teasing Jace, more likely because his reactions were always so entertaining.

Jace paused mid-stride and kissed his son's cheek, and after a split second decision, he kissed Clary's cheek as well. "I feel like it's _my_ birthday," he said, looking at J.C. with pride in his golden eyes.

"He's said 'dada' before," Clary mumbled, not actually meaning for her husband to hear it.

Jace stopped in his tracks, just as he was about to load the saddle onto Wayfarer's back, and turned to look at his wife in disbelief. "What? _When?_ How—"

"You know your son," Clary said, after a moment's decision settled to divulge the truth. "I taught him to say 'dada' right after he learnt to say 'mama' over _two months ago_—" Jace's eyes widened at the revelation, "—He just decided to be stubborn and not let you hear him say it. You know, just to torture you a little."

"Well, he certainly did," Jace said, his mood souring. He knew that he was being slightly immature by getting upset about the whole situation, but he couldn't help but feel a little betrayed by both his wife and child—Clary for keeping it a secret and J.C. for letting him stew for so long. _A baby conspiring with his mother?_ _What madness was this? _"This whole time I've been moping over him saying 'duck' before 'dada'. I was seriously contemplating my suicide over my son's traitorous choice of words."

"Don't be so dramatic," Clary scoffed, shifting J.C. to balance him on her left hip. "Suicide… Do you really think it would have been worth it? You would have missed spending this day with us…and whatever _we_ decide to do _after…at night…in bed…_" Clary trailed off in a seductive voice.

Jace swallowed and tried to glare at his wife for causing the growing discomfort in his pants—_again_. "Vixen," he growled. "Stop teasing me, _wife_."

Clary flashed him a sultry smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about, husband," she said, batting her eyelashes in faux-innocence. "But if you insist, I suppose we can overlook the _erotic_ _activities_ I've planned for us tonight."

"Clary!" Jace yelled at her exasperatedly.

"Yes, Jace?"

"Maybe you should stay at home while J.C. and I go out this afternoon," Jace said as he walked towards her, rather awkwardly due to his overly-tight pants. Without making any eye contact with his redheaded wife, he snatched J.C. out of her arms and into his, before turning to Wayfarer with a frustrated frown.

Clary watched, arms folded across her chest and with complete mirth as her husband tried and failed to mount the brown horse, with their son held tightly in one arm.

_"God-damn-it!"_

"Would you like some assistance, dearest husband? You seem to be struggling a fair bit there," Clary said, sounding thoroughly amused.

Jace sent her a withering look and narrowed his eyes. "No, thank you. I'm perfectly sure that I can manage this _daunting_ task on my own," he said in between gritted teeth.

"Suit yourself," Clary said, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. "I was only trying to be a helpful wife. But it seems…you don't _need_ me, after all. It's fine. Maybe some other woman would come along and make a better wife for you." Clary's tone dropped at the end, sounding—_unconsciously_—bitter and upset.

Jace's mouth fell open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief at her statement. "Clary—w-what—_Why_ would you say that?" he said in a hoarse voice.

Clary focused her gaze on the ground, her eyebrows pinched together in guilt and confusion. Truthfully, _she_ was shocked that those words even came out of her mouth. She hadn't meant to say _that_ to Jace; if anything, she'd only wanted to tease him.

But no sooner had those words been out in the open, she felt a stinging pain in her chest, one she knew far too well—_fear_. Deep down, the fear of Jace leaving her, of him seeking out another woman to be his wife, was present and very much real. But with everything that had occurred in the past year—with J.C.'s birth—Clary had forgotten about the fear that had—and _still_—existed in her subconscious.

"Clary," Jace said, gently tilting her chin to look up at him.

Clary flinched involuntarily; she hadn't even realized that Jace had moved in front of her. But now that she was looking—_staring_—into his eyes, she could see clearly the emotions that were reflected in golden orbs, the most obvious ones being pain and anguish. She'd hurt him, cut him deeply with her words. _Why did she even_—_?_

"Sweetheart," Jace's voice shook, "Why would you say that?" he repeated his question.

Clary's mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to take back her words? _'Stupid! Why did you open your stupid mouth?'_

"Sweetheart, you know that you're the _only_ one for me, don't you? I'm _yours, only yours._ There's no other woman for me—Don't you know that?" Jace asked in a pleading tone.

"I—" _'Of course I know that. That's what you've always told me, but that doesn't mean that I'm able to believe it wholeheartedly,' _Clary thought, unable to stop herself from being so skeptical and self-deprecating._ 'Look at you_—_look at _me._ I'm irrational, insensitive, selfish…You've always deserved better than me. Somewhere out there, there is another woman who's better for you than I am_—_smarter, prettier, perfect_—_but you don't realize it yet…probably because I've given you a son and you'd feel bad for leaving me.'_

"Even if you hadn't given me a son, I would still be yours," Jace interrupted, his thumb gently swiping away at the tear that had unconsciously spilled down Clary's cheek.

Clary looked up at him, surprise clear on her face at how accurate his predictions had been of her thoughts. _'But how? How did he_—_'_

Realization struck her at her very core and Clary sucked in a sharp breath. Jace _did_ love her—fully and wholly. If he hadn't, how could he have possibly known about what she was thinking?

"I'm sorry if I haven't made this thoroughly clear to you yet, but I'll set it straight now, once and for all." Jace cupped her cheek with his hand, while the other continued to cradle their son—the child that had been birthed out of their love for each other.

"I love you, Clarissa Herondale," he said sternly. "I love you with every beat of my living heart—_Every breath I take is for you_. I haven't lived until the day I met you, and since then, I've never wanted to live a day without you in my life. You think that you don't deserve me, but that's not true. I'm a better man today than I have ever been because of you. So let this sink into your head: You're _it_ for me. No one else. _You_. And until the day I die, I'll take you as you are—emotional baggage, imperfections and all."

As soon as Jace ended his speech, Clary dropped her head into his chest, suddenly overcome by an overload of emotion; her body shook with muffled sobs of contrite and she whispered words of apology into his shirt. Jace held her tightly against him as she cried, kissing her hair and whispering 'I love you' and 'It's okay' every so often.

"I'm sorry, Jace," Clary sniffled as she finally looked up at him. "I'm so stupid. I didn't mean to say that at all. I only ever intended to joke with you, and then, _that_ just slipped out—I didn't mean—"

"Shh, Clary. It's okay," he said, stroking her cheek.

"Kay, mama," J.C. suddenly chipped in, his tiny hand, which was covered in drool, patting her other cheek as if to comfort her.

Clary and Jace instantly burst out laughing at their son's innocent attempt to console her. He'd been so quiet this whole time—never once interrupting his father as he tried to reassure his mother and repel her of her doubts once and for all—that they'd inadvertently forgotten that he was there, too.

"You cheeky little bugger," Jace chuckled, planting a wet kiss on J.C.'s cheek.

Giggling, Clary wrapped her arms around her husband, purposely squashing J.C. in between them. "What would I ever do without my two boys?" she sighed.

"I guess you'll never have to find out," Jace said, pulling her in for a sweet kiss.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the Herondale family found themselves at the corral outside of the market square of Idris. They had traveled into town at a leisurely pace, all three of them sat atop Wayfarer, with Jace in front and J.C. safely tucked in between him and Clary.

Ever the exuberant child, J.C. had been ecstatic during his first horse ride, bouncing up and down and making excited noises the whole way.

Clary and Jace took their time, pointing out different things to J.C. along the way: colors, the weather, shrubs, trees, flowers; Clary even went the extra mile and taught their son the specific names of flowers they saw: daisies, orchids, chrysanthemums—all of which the young boy managed to butcher up in his baby language.

"And we're here," Jace announced as he dismounted the horse. He grabbed J.C. and placed him on his hip, before stretching his hand out to help Clary down.

Once Wayfarer had been secured in the corral, he placed his hand on the small of Clary's back and led them into the bustling market.

"I feel like I haven't been here in forever," Clary said, her emerald green eyes bright upon seeing the throngs of people scuttling in and out of the market.

Truly, the place was teeming with activity and life; Jace, however often he'd visited the market, had never seen it this busy before. People—all well-clothed and content, Jace observed satisfactorily—were moving about in a uniformly brisk pace as they attended to their daily errands; not a single stall or shop in sight was vacant.

"Where do you think we should go first, sweetheart?" Jace asked his wife, fingers digging a little tighter into her side as he held her against him protectively.

"Ask J.C.," Clary answered, shifting her gaze to her son. Nestled in his father's arms, his gold-flecked green eyes were shining brilliantly with curiosity as he eyed everything in sight, from the people to the various items on display in each stall.

"J.C.," Jace called, "Where do you want to go, birthday boy?"

J.C. stuck his fingers into his mouth and scrunched his nose as if in thought, before pointing in the direction a stall selling a variety of children's items, ranging from clothes to a number of other trinkets and toys.

"Ever a bright child," Clary murmured with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesties," a brown-haired, middle-aged man greeted the Herondales as soon as they stopped in front of the children's stall. He was fairly short and plump; a pair of round glasses sat perched on top of his slightly crooked nose, and he had a pair of warm chestnut-brown eyes.

"Good afternoon there, Miles," Jace smiled kindly at the stall vendor. Having frequented the market often, he'd put in the time and effort to learn most of the vendor's names. "How's the family?" he asked in a conversational tone.

"Good, Sire," Miles answered. "What can I do for you today? And—Is this Prince Jonathan?" he asked, looking at the young toddler in Jace's arms in awe—most likely because of the amazing resemblance that the boy bore to his father.

"Indeed he is," Jace said, holding his son up proudly. Not many of the Idrisians had seen the young prince up-close, though they have been informed of his birth; only several of his and Clary's closest associates—the council members and, of course, their friends—had been invited to J.C.'s christening ceremony when he was a week old. Otherwise, J.C. had never even ventured outside of the palace grounds; his outdoors only consisted of the royal gardens.

"He just turned one today," Jace said, catching J.C.'s chubby fist in his hand just as he reached up to yank a dangling bell ornament. "So to celebrate his birthday, we decided to take him out and explore the town."

"Can I interest you in some toys for the prince?" Miles offered.

Jace scanned the stall, chewing on the inside of his cheek contemplatively. So far, J.C. had several stuffed toys at home—courtesy of Clary—as well as an impressive collection of wooden blocks and toy soldiers that Jace himself had carved out for him.

"What about this one, Jace?" Clary's voice broke through Jace's thoughts. He turned to see her pointing to an intricate wooden horse playset.

Jace shrugged. "Sure. Anything else you want, J.C.?" he asked.

J.C. pointed to a wooden ship. "Bubba!" he said.

"That's a 'ship'," Jace told him. "Say 'ship'."

"Sh," J.C. said, before biting on his finger.

Clary giggled. "We'll work on that later."

"So…One wooden horse playset and a ship model, I take it?" Miles asked.

"Yes, please. Thank you, Miles." Jace gave the vendor an appreciative nod.

As Miles packed the purchased toy set, Jace's eyes began to wander the stall. His gaze fell short on a delicate-looking Porcelain doll and he smiled a little to himself. It would have been perfect if he had a daughter to give the doll to, Jace thought, but as it is, Clary wasn't even pregnant yet. Though they have been intimately active, and conception was a matter of luck, Clary had told him that she wanted—_hoped for_—J.C. to be at least one or two years old before they have another baby.

"Come on, Jace," Clary said, tugging on the sleeve of his arm.

Jace shook his head and turned to see his wife already holding the bag of toys in one arm. She gave him a knowing smile, and for a fleeting second, Jace saw a glint of something _else_ in her emerald green eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her but chose not to dwell too much on it as she led them away from the stall.

* * *

_"Shoot!"_

Jace paused halfway through chewing his cheese sandwich when he heard Clary cursing. He raised an eyebrow at her, confused by the sight of her looking so flustered. "Everything okay, sweetheart?" he asked in a wary tone.

"I forgot to bring a blanket," Clary said as she eyed their son distractedly. He was seated in Clary's lap, though instead of being the well-behaved boy he usually was when he was with his mother, J.C. was currently throwing a tantrum—whining and pawing at her chest.

_'Huh. How did I even miss that?'_ Jace wondered quizzically. "A blanket? What for?" he asked, looking at Clary again.

"I need to feed him, Jace," Clary said exasperatedly. "We're sitting on a fountain in the middle of the market square. I can't just flash myself for the whole world to see."

"Oh. Right," Jace said, stuffing the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth. He got up, wiping his hands on his pants, and reached his arms out for his son. "Come on. We'll find someplace less…open so that you can feed him."

Clary sighed and followed her husband wordlessly, slightly annoyed at herself for forgetting to bring J.C.'s nursing blanket. How could she have been so careless? Her baby was hungry and it was all her fault.

She was such a bad mother, Clary thought, climbing on the verge of tears.

As her vision glazed over, becoming slightly blurry, she sniffled and swallowed hard, trying to control herself from a public breakdown. _'Curse this emotional imbalance!'_ Clary thought.

"Hey. Clary, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Jace asked, being the observant husband that he was. He draped his arm over her shoulder and rubbed her arm comfortingly.

Clary sighed. _'Why must he notice every single goddamn thing? God, he's so annoying!'_

"It's nothing, Jace," she snapped, shrugging his arm off of her irritably. She knew she was acting irrational—_again_—but she couldn't help it. She was mad at herself, and Jace trying to interfere was unexplainably but utterly vexing.

"Fine then," Jace said, though Clary didn't miss the hurt in his tone.

Why did she keep hurting him? Clary wondered as guilt washed over her. At a split second decision, she reached out and twined Jace's fingers with hers, squeezing his hand apologetically.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jace smiled at her forgivingly, instantly making Clary's insides melt at the amount of love she saw in his golden eyes.

She leaned her head against his shoulder as they entered a more secluded part of the town, where several rows of houses were built.

"Clary? Jace?" A young girl's voice called them to attention.

The couple spun around in unison, only to be met with the sight of a thirteen-year-old girl with pale blonde hair and brown eyes.

"Emma," Clary said, smiling at the young girl. "How have you been, honey?"

"Fine," she answered, twirling with a piece of blonde hair that had come undone from her braid. "I've been adjusting to, you know, living with the Blackthorns."

The couple gave her a sympathetic smile. Just six months ago, Emma Carstairs became an orphan; her parents had been mugged and killed while on a business trip in Renwick's, a country set a few miles south of Alicante. A week after their deaths, Jace had found the young girl—broken and starving—in an abandoned alley in town and had taken her home to the palace, where the couple took care of her until the Blackthorns—old friends of the Carstairs—came forward and offered to take Emma in under their guardianship.

Jace still checked in on the girl's progress from time to time, having taken a liking to her, but neither he nor Clary had heard from Emma or the Blackthorns in over a month.

"What are you guys doing here?" Emma asked, looking up at the couple. Her brown eyes landed on the whining baby in Jace's arms and she grinned. "J.C.! God, he's so much bigger than the last time I saw him."

Jace chuckled. "Yeah, well, it's his first birthday. We wanted to take him out to the market…" Jace trailed off when J.C. let out a loud shriek before shoving his entire fist into his mouth. He exchanged a panicked look with Clary. "And he's hungry—We're trying to find a secluded place so Clary can feed him," Jace rushed out.

"You should've said so earlier," Emma said, rolling her eyes. "Come on." She turned and strode off in the direction of a white brick house with green-painted windows.

"Emma?" Clary said in a questioning tone.

"We're going to the Blackthorns'. You can nurse him in my room," Emma answered her nonchalantly.

Clary heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh thank God. Thank you so much, Emma."

"You're a lifesaver," Jace agreed as he rocked his son, trying his best to get him to calm down.

"It's the least I can do." Emma shrugged, leaving it at that.

As soon as they stepped through the front door of the Blackthorn's house, a man with dark brown hair and blue-green eyes came up to greet them. "Emma, where have you—" He cut himself off when he saw that Emma was not alone.

"Your Highnesses." The man's eyes widened fractionally for a split second before he gave them a low bow in greeting. "What brings you to my abode?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Our apologies, Andrew," Jace said respectfully. "We hope we're not intruding…we were looking for a place to stop by so that my wife can nurse our son. Emma offered to lend us her room," he explained.

At that, Andrew seemed to visibly relax. "Oh, of course. Do make yourselves at home," he said before turning to face Emma. "Emma, show the queen to your room, will you?"

"Yes, Mr Blackthorn," Emma answered politely.

"Come on, Clary." She offered to take J.C. from Jace and the young king relented, knowing he could trust the thirteen-year-old with his son.

Jace watched longingly as his wife bounded up the stairs, Emma and J.C. in the lead, before they disappeared behind one of the wooden doors—Emma's room, he reckoned—leaving him behind with Andrew Blackthorn.

"Have a seat, Sire. I'll have my wife serve us some tea shortly." Andrew nodded to the chairs in the adjacent lounge room, and Jace complied, allowing himself a moment of respite while his wife tended to their son upstairs.

True to his word, not too long later, Andrew's wife, a slender woman with brown cinnamon hair entered the lounge room, a tray holding a steaming pot of tea and two cups in hand. She gave Jace a brief timid smile, not keen of saying anything, as she poured the tea.

"Shall I make some snacks? Biscuits, or perhaps, some tea sandwiches?" she asked her husband in a hushed tone.

"That won't be necessary," Jace decided to answer, smiling kindly at the woman. "I already had lunch earlier. But thank you for the offer."

"As you wish, your Highness," the woman replied shakily before scuttling out of the room.

Andrew exhaled a breathless laugh. "I apologize," he said as he sat down on the sofa opposite Jace. "My wife has always been a little…skittish. Especially in the presence of esteemed guests such as yourself."

"That's all right," Jace said. "I think it's a natural reaction for most. Though my own wife doesn't quite agree with such labeling—She prefers the idea of viewing people as equals." He leaned forward in his seat, hands clasped in between his knees, and looked around the room indifferently while taking small sips of his tea. Jace winced a little at the taste but tried his best to repress his disgust; he had never quite liked Earl Grey tea, and resented it as much as ginger tea. But out of respect for his host, he decided to keep his opinions to himself.

"How has Emma been adjusting to her new living arrangements?" Jace asked, trying to fill the gaping awkward silence. "She told me that she's doing fine, but I'd much rather hear another side to the story."

Andrew straightened himself and gave the king a thoughtful smile. "I'd say that she's been doing fairly well in recent months," he said. "She was quiet, withdrawn at first, but she's been slowly opening up. It helps that there's plenty of children in the house to keep her company—She's especially taken a liking to my son, Julian, I think. They seem to be growing rather close."

"That's good to hear," Jace said with a genuinely relieved smile. "I know from experience how hard it is to lose one's parents so young. I'm glad she's been taken in by a good family who can help her heal and move on from her loss."

"I'm grateful for your confidence, Sire," Andrew replied good-naturedly. "And thank you for everything you've done for the kingdom so far. I'm personally relieved that the gladiator games have been extinguished for good. My eldest son, Mark—he used to serve as a guard for the games—"

"I know," Jace cut in. "I've met him before. He was my escort when I was carrying out my slave duties at the royal stables."

"Ah, well," Andrew said, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. "He's told me that before, too. He once said that you inspired him into wanting to be a gladiator. Needless to say, I'm just glad that the games are over—you know, before he even got the chance to get himself roped into it. The boy can be such a terrible fool sometimes."

"I'm glad the games are over, too," Jace said with a distant look in his eyes. "It's what's best for everyone. I'd never want my own son—or any of my future children, for that matter—to witness the cruelty of the games. It's not right."

"For what's worth, I'm glad you're our king," Andrew said, giving Jace a thankful nod.

Jace regarded the man before him pensively. "Do me a favor, will you?" he asked after a while.

"Anything, Sire."

"Just for today at least, call me Jace," the young king said with his signature smirk.

Andrew look completely baffled for a moment, but he quickly found his voice. "Of course…_Jace_," he said, trying his name out hesitantly. "Do you have a reason for…?" He trailed off, not knowing how exactly to phrase his question without sounding intrusive.

Jace shrugged. "I don't want to be constantly reminded that I'm a king today," he said. "Just this once, I want to be an ordinary man trying to be a good husband and father to my family. I owe them that much—especially on my son's birthday."

Andrew nodded, respecting the golden-haired king's request.

They lapsed into comfortable silence after that, Jace trying to muster the courage to finish his tea. '_Who the hell decided that Earl Grey tea was a good idea?'_ he thought while diligently cursing the bloody idiot in his head. _'Urgh. Fucking bergamot.'_

After what felt like an eternity later, they heard the sound of quiet footsteps approaching. Jace and Andrew looked up, only to see Clary and Emma coming down the stairs. J.C. was fast asleep in Clary's arms, his head resting on her shoulder.

"Thank you for your kind hospitality, Andrew," Clary said once she was standing next to her husband. "Jace and I really appreciate it—and our son Jonathan, too."

"You're welcome, Milady," Andrew replied with a courteous bow to the young queen.

"We'll be taking our leave now," Jace said, guiding his hand to the small of Clary's back.

"Thank you for the _wonderful_ tea," he added after a moment's thought, causing Clary to give him a weird look; Andrew might have missed the sarcasm in his tone, but _she_ certainly _didn't_.

Turning to Emma, Jace gave her a brotherly smile. "Take care now, Emma. Stay out of trouble."

"And don't be a stranger," Clary said. "You're welcome at the palace any time—"

"Of course, just don't come in the middle of the night when we're all sleeping," Jace added jokingly.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I'll be sure to bring a trumpet to announce my arrival when the whim appears."

* * *

Soft pants filled the air in the dark fortress of the Herondale couple's bedroom.

Clary gripped Jace's shoulders and wound her legs tighter around his back as he slowly thrust himself into her, their bodies rocking in a slow, lazy rhythm. Their mouths hung open, touching but not kissing, as they allowed the pleasure to slowly build between them.

"Jace…ohhhh," Clary breathed, arching her back when he hit a particularly sensitive spot that sent violent shivers of pleasure racking down her spine.

"Are you close yet?" Jace asked, breathing hard, _hotly_, against her neck. He sped up his thrusts marginally, swiveling his hips as he entered her.

"Yeah," she moaned, moving her hips in time with his as his thrusts began to grow harder, _faster_, causing the bed to creak beneath their weight.

Clary threaded her fingers through his sweaty blonde curls, directing his mouth to hers. "Kiss me, Jace," she told him breathlessly, a whispered command.

Jace immediately pressed his lips to hers, groaning loudly as their tongues mated in a wild, tantalizing fashion, matching the ferocity of their fevered thrusts. He felt the pressure grow in his abdomen as his breaths came shorter, _heavier_, until he was almost gasping, his heated muscles tightening everywhere his hot, slick skin touched hers.

"Clary," Jace rasped out, clenching his teeth hard as if he were in pain. He could barely register the low guttural moan coming from his own throat; all he knew was that he was on the verge of drowning, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

Steadily, as the pleasure grew to almost unbearable heights, Jace strained to force his golden eyes to stay open, a feral desire in him wanting, _yearning_, to see the look of pure rapture on his wife's face as she came apart from beneath him. He wanted, as badly as he craved his own insurmountable pleasure, to see _that_ look in her eyes, to know that _he_ was responsible for _her _sensual gratification. So he let his forehead drop against hers, locking their eyes in an intense gaze. _'Don't look away,'_ he pleaded with her. _'Keep your eyes open for me.' _

"Jace?" Clary whimpered, arching her neck gracefully. She could feel the imminent waves of blissful euphoria approaching fast—and they were coming, tide after tide.

Jace grinned. He knew that she was close;_ he could feel it_. He let his hand wander down, skimming up her thigh…and finally, when his fingers closed in on her center, he began to rub her furiously, willing her to climb over the edge _for_ him.

"Oh God, Jace!" As Clary gave a final cry, clenching around his swelling length, he let himself go, meeting his release with a loud, gratified moan.

They lay next to each other several minutes later, still breathing hard, both spent and recovering from their high. Clary curled up against Jace's side and she rubbed her hand up and down his heaving, sweaty chest—a post-coital habit of hers, Jace realized belatedly.

He gave his wife a soft kiss on the lips, lasting only a couple of seconds before he pulled away, their noses touching, his golden orbs locked with her emerald green ones. "That was amazing, Clary," Jace told her, throwing in another chaste peck. "I love you so much."

"Hmm," she hummed, too content and tired to say anything more.

As Jace ran his calloused fingers through her red tresses, almost lulling her into a peaceful sleep, Clary forced herself to stay awake, distracted by a particular thought that had been lingering at the back of her mind. She brought her thumb up to her bottom lip, biting the nail nervously.

Eventually, when Jace finally moved to draw the blankets over their naked bodies, Clary turned to look at him, sudden nervousness but excitement glowing in her green eyes.

"What?" Jace said, noticing the change in her demeanor. He thought that she had already fallen asleep.

Clary bit her lip. "I saw you looking at those porcelain dolls at the children's stall earlier," she said, her even tone giving nothing away.

Jace flushed, feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed that his wife had caught him in the…_act_, for lack of a better word. "You d-did?" he asked her dumbly. He knew that he hadn't done anything wrong, but it was the implication of his interest in those dolls—their symbolic nature—that would be a cause for suspicion.

Clary turned her face into Jace's shoulder and hid her smile; she enjoyed seeing him all riled up and tense. She moved her hand to his chest again, this time tracing random shapes and patterns onto his mapped skin with her smooth fingertips.

"It was pretty obvious," she said, sounding a little smug.

"And?" Jace swallowed.

"Nothing," Clary said. "It's just—It'd be nice if you actually told me what's on your mind."

Jace hesitated. "I—I'm afraid of what you'd say."

"Just say it."

"Clary—"

"Goddamnit, Jace! Just say it!" She slapped his chest impatiently.

_"I want another baby,"_ Jace rushed out, so quickly that if Clary hadn't known better, she would've thought that he was saying an exceptionally long word from a foreign language. But instead of commenting, she kept quiet, giving him the time to compose himself.

"I know it might seem as if I'm rushing into things—and trust me, I don't ever want to pressure you into anything you don't want; I don't mind waiting—But Clary, I _do_ want another baby." Jace sighed, the muscles in his chest slowly easing from the initial tension. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted.

"A little girl, preferably," he continued in a softer tone as he fingered her red curls affectionately. "With your fiery-red hair and gorgeous green eyes. A mini-you. That's what I want."

Clary propped herself up on her elbow and looked down at her husband's face. He looked so _hopeful_ and so, _so_ handsome, the sharp planes and angles of his face appearing softer under the radiant glow of the moonlight.

"I can't make any promises that _this_ _one_ will be a girl," she said, nonchalantly rubbing her flat stomach in a circular motion. "But I guess we shall see when the time comes—won't we?" And with that, Clary flipped over onto her side, her back facing Jace's comically stunned face. She turned her face into her pillow and stifled a laugh, replaying the look of shock on her husband's face in her mind. _It was so priceless!_

Meanwhile, Jace stared at his wife's back, his golden eyes wide and uncomprehending—or rather, he was having a hard time trying to _believe_ what he'd just heard, no matter how much he'd understood the words. _'I guess we shall see when the time comes? Clary was…Is she really? She's_—_We_—_baby?'_

After what seemed like forever, Jace finally thawed out of his frozen state. He flipped Clary over onto her back and straddled her, looking wild and completely stupefied.

"You're pregnant?" he blurted out.

Clary gave him a smug smirk. "Mmm," she replied.

Instantaneously, a myriad of emotions flashed across Jace's face; he looked close to tears, but at the same time, he was completely awed and…happy.

"Clary, I'm going to be a father again," he whispered to her as if he were confiding his deepest, innermost secrets.

"Yay, good for you, Mr Herondale," she said, patting his head sarcastically. "And I'm going to spend the next couple of months growing another human being inside of me. You know what that means—morning sickness, backaches, swollen feet, and looking like a deformed cow. Now if you'll excuse me, I need my rest."

Jace, as if possessed, continued to smile down at his wife maniacally. "You'll be the most gorgeous cow then," he said dreamily, causing Clary's face to flush red with anger.

Without warning, she drew her hand back and slapped him hard across the cheek, causing him to stumble back onto his side of the bed.

"How dare you call me a cow?!" she screeched at him angrily.

Jace gripped his bruised cheek, suddenly sober. "I didn't!"

"Oh yes you did!" Clary pointed a threatening finger at him, as if challenging him to deny her allegation.

"Clary—"

"Come any closer and this _cow_ will make sure you meet your end, Jace Herondale," she said in a menacing tone.

"But—"

"Floor!"

"But—"

"Now!"

Sighing in defeat, Jace dragged himself out of the bed, before pulling on a pair of black pajama pants over his bare lower half. He grabbed the pillow off his side, and slowly, with an exaggeratedly dejected face, he lowered himself onto the floor, his knees tucked against his bare chest. He stared longingly at his wife, hating the distance between them, while she glared at him from her comfortable position on the bed.

"You haven't kissed me good night yet," Jace said, pouting miserably.

"You don't deserve a good night kiss."

"Are we really going to go to sleep angry?"

"Not we. _Me_."

"Anger is not good for the baby."

"And whose fault is that?" Clary hissed.

"I didn't bring up the cow issue," Jace said sulkily.

"But you supported it, _stupid_."

"I was trying to make you feel better," he argued. "Don't women like it when their husbands agree with them?"

"Not when it comes to them saying that they'll look like a cow, Jace. You're supposed to disagree with me, not add fuel to my self-loathing."

"You're confusing me, Clary. At least I said that you'd look gorgeous."

"That's not the point. And you're tiring me. Go to sleep, Jace."

"Can I sleep on the bed once you're asleep?"

"If you want to be dead in the morning, _sure_."

Jace sighed and began to rock himself back and forth on the floor, looking like a rejected child. "Do you at least love me, Clary?" he asked her in a heartbroken voice.

"You know I do, Jace," Clary said exasperatedly; it completely vexed her that her husband wouldn't shut up. Worse still, he was trying to guilt-trip her. _The conniving idiot._

"Will you do something for me then?"

Clary groaned into her pillow. "What, Jace?"

"Can you at least consider forgiving me for my impertinent and thoughtless comment? I didn't mean to offend you," he said in a soft, regretful tone. "Also, I'd like you to reconsider letting me sleep on the bed with you. The floor is hardly the most comfortable place to sleep on, and I'm currently having a backache."

"Will you shut up and let me sleep if I agree to your requests?" she asked into her pillow.

There was a long thoughtful pause before Jace finally answered. "Yes."

"Fine!" Clary begrudgingly consented. She scooted over, as far away as possible from Jace when he climbed back into their bed, rolling her eyes at his childlike enthusiasm.

Much to her chagrin, instead of giving her much _needed_ space, he only moved closer to her. "Can we cuddle?" Jace asked innocently.

"Do I look like I want to cuddle with you?" She glared at him through one slitted eye.

"It's debatable," Jace said, nodding thoughtfully. "Due to your current state of anger, it's reasonable that you would refuse to cuddle, but deep down, I strongly believe that your subconscious _wants_ you to cuddle with me," he explained. "Therefore, speaking from a selfless and completely impartial point of view, I think that you ought to listen to your subconscious—it tends to lever on a more…rational-thinking side."

Clary blinked at her husband incredulously. _Where did he come up with all this cow-shit?_ "Fine," she said stiffly, knowing better than to protest; he would be talking all night long if she refused him. "I grant you permission to cuddle with me."

Jace smirked. "I'm so proud of you, my darling Clarissa. I knew you would come around to your senses," he said, snuggling against her side. He lowered himself on the bed and placed his head on her stomach, tracing small circles on the spot where his unborn child lay.

"Daddy loves you, little one," he said, pressing his lips to her stomach. "I can't wait to finally meet you."

"I can't wait for _you_ to finally shut up," Clary cut in, one of her arms drawn over her forehead as if she were nursing a headache.

Jace smiled against her skin. "Good night, Clary," he said. "I love you. Thank you for giving me the chance to be a father again."

"I love you, too. Now go to sleep, Jace," she said, her tone exceptionally gentle as she began to caress his golden-blonde curls.

As his eyelids began to grow heavier, Jace heard Clary humming the tune of a familiar lullaby, and soon enough, his golden eyes slipped shut, and he fell into a restful sleep.

* * *

**A/N:**

I hope you guys enjoyed that outtake. I have to say that my favorite line from this one would be Jace's: "You'll be the most gorgeous cow then." Haha. He should've known better than to mess with a hormonal and sensitive Clary.

By the way, in Clary's defense, her hormones (and subconscious) were partially the reasons why she was overly emotional in the stables earlier... And well, I think it's normal for every teenage girl to have their insecurities, even if they aren't aware of it. Clary loves Jace; there's no denying that, but sometimes I think that when something, or rather, when the person you are with is just too good to be true (*cough* Jace *cough*), you tend to question and doubt things/how long they can actually last. I mean, it's human nature to be apprehensive, right? Or maybe that's just me. I've never been much of an optimist.

But moving on, Jace is just amazing, isn't he? He does have his pervy teenage moments every once in a while, but essentially, he's a really patient and loving husband to Clary. Sigh..If only such a guy existed in real life... Clace's relationship isn't perfect, but I think it's _pretty close_ because of Jace xx

Anyway, what are your thoughts?

And before I forget, I'd like to give a special shoutout to **DamphiricAngel2014** for giving me suggestions in your reviews! Technically I didn't write a Jace-J.C. horse riding scene, but hey, at least you guys got to see more moments with the little guy, right? And they explored a little of the market and met Emma! I was just randomly trying to think of other people they can interact with besides themselves...so yeah.

Last question: Did any of you suspect that Clary was pregnant before she told Jace?

xoxo~

N


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